Thou seem'st as if a spirit meekly brave
Dwelt in thy cell!"
Permit me, reader, another quotation. I take it from your and my favourite, Wordsworth:—
"Rapturously we gather flowery spoils
From land and water; lilies of each hue,
Golden and white, that float upon the waves,
And court the wind."
The lily of golden hue, the yellow water-lily, is the Nuphar lutea of botanists. The country people, on account of its peculiar scent, most unpoetically call it "brandy-bottle." It is far more plentiful than the regal nymphæa; its flower is not so full of petals; and it is by no means so handsome. Yet, with its smooth, glossy leaves, and golden cups, and long floating stems, it favourably attracts the eye. We are told that "its roots are nutritious, and are frequently powdered and eaten for bread in Sweden;" that, mixed with the bark of the Scotch fir, they form a cake much relished by the Swedes; in which case the Swedish palate certainly cannot be censured as fastidious. "These roots are also burnt on the hearths of farmhouses, because their smoke is reputed to drive away the crickets, whose chirping is sometimes too loud and shrill to be deemed musical." Assuredly this is untrue of many parts of England, as the cricket is popularly supposed to be "lucky," and no old country-wife would allow it to be driven away from her sanctum.
The water-lily of the East, the beautiful Lotus,—the Nelumbium speciosum, which is figured on so many Egyptian and Indian monuments,—is rich in blue and red, as well as in white blossoms. These are said to sink quite below the surface in the evening and during the night shadows; whence Moore says of them, with his artificial prettiness—