TO THE NASTURTIUM;
WHICH LINNÆUS DESCRIBES AS EMITTING PHOSPHORESENCE
IN THE DARK.
Glorious flower! so gorgeously bright!
As if thou wert formed of orient light!
In topaz, and gold, and velvet array,
Like an Eastern Queen on her bridal day!
Rich jewels the Sun to the Earth dropped down,
And the Earth gave him back thy floral crown.
Thy tints, glowing warm as a summer noon,
Seem painted tones from some amorous tune;
And surely thy varying flushes came
From Italian music’s radiant flame;
Or, when Apollo touched his golden lyre,
Earth answered the sounds with thy brilliant fire.
Thy ardent blossoms were at first unfurled,
A love-letter written to all the world;
And not by day only, but even by night,
The writing shines through with phosphoric light.
That letter of love the Tropics sent forth,
Sealed full of sunshine, a gift to the North.
Bright Summer is proud thy garland to wear;
It shines like rich gems in Autumn’s pale hair;
And it warms our homes with a sunny glow,
When earth has assumed her mantle of snow.
Wealth of bright beauty hast thou for thy dower,
Resplendent, warm-hearted, tropical flower!
THE
ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT.
Thou, while listening with thy inward ear,
The ocean of eternity didst hear,
Along its coming waves; and thou didst see
Its spiritual waters, as they rolled through thee;
Nor toiled, in hard abstractions of the brain,
Some guess of immortality to gain;
For far-sought truths within thy soul did rise,
Informing visions to thine inward eyes.
R. H. Dana.
Many centuries ago, a child named Hermotimus was born in the genial climate of Ionia. From infancy, his hold on material life seemed exceedingly slight. He was a delicate, frail blossom;
“By living rays refined,
A trembler of the wind;
A spiritual flower
Sentient of breeze and shower.”
But the slender thread that bound him to this mortal existence did not break. The babe crawled from his cradle and toddled into the fields, where he would sit motionless for hours, by the side of some flower he loved. A grave smile would illumine his countenance if a butterfly rested on it, or a passing bird brushed it with her wing. He always expected to see the flower fly, too; and therefore he watched it so patiently, as it swayed under their light pressure. In very early childhood, he was remarkable for the keenness of his senses and the vividness of his dreams. He heard distant sounds, inaudible even to the quick ear of his playmate the hound; and the perfume of a rose made him faint, before he was old enough to explain why he turned so pale. At vintage time, when processions in honor of Bacchus passed through the village, his mother dared not take him to the show, where all other children were dancing and capering; for once, when she carried him with her to the rustic festival, he fell into violent fits at the sound of the shrill pipes and the clashing cymbals. His dreams furnished a theme for all the gossips of the neighborhood; for the scenes he witnessed in sleep impressed themselves on his mind with such singular distinctness, that nothing could persuade the child he had not actually seen them. Sometimes, when they gave him his little bowl of goat’s milk for supper, he would cry for the lamb with beautiful rose-coloured wool, that had eaten a portion of his milk the night before; and it was quite useless to try to persuade him that there was no such creature as a rose-coloured lamb. To all their assertions, he would answer, with lively pertinacity, “I did see him! I did see him; and he did drink from my bowl.” As he grew older, he sometimes hummed snatches of tunes, which he said were sung to him by maidens in white robes, with garlands about their heads; and the melodies were unlike any known in the neighbourhood. Several times, as he walked along the road, he started suddenly at the approach of a stranger, and ran away shuddering. When his companions asked why he did so, he would answer, “Ah, that was a very bad man. He made me feel all over cold.”