A sword, or heard a crowd applaud their names—
Who lived and labored, died, and were forgot;
And after them the world came out and reapt
The field, and never questioned who had sown.”
From this garden of dainty devices let us, before leaving, cull a few choice flowers. From “The New Village” we would fain extract the whole stanza, describing the forest-life of the Indian maids, which concludes thus—
“The daisies kiss their foot-falls in the grass,
And little streams stand still to paint them in their glass.”
In “A Vision of Death,” the flowers over the grave of a beautiful maiden, are thus invoked:—
“Bloom, bloom,
Ye little blossoms! and if beauty can,