Still I trust the signs which tell

On thy life a light shall dwell,

Light—thy gentle spirit’s own,

From within around thee thrown.

THE FLOWER OF THE DESERT.

“Who does not recollect the exultation of Valiant over a flower in the torrid wastes of Africa? The affecting mention of the influence of a flower upon the mind, by Mungo Park, in a time of suffering and despondency, in the heart of the same savage country, is familiar to every one.”—Howitt’s “Book of the Seasons.”

Why art thou thus in thy beauty cast,

O lonely, loneliest flower!

Where the sound of song hath never pass’d

From human hearth or bower?