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eye upon their beauty. Crabbe speaks of their mischievous effects:

"There poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil;
There the blue bugloss paints the sterile soil ;
Hardy, and high above the slender sheaf,

The slimy mallow waves her silky leaf.”

CRABBE'S VILLAGE.

Virgil has a fine comparison, which was copied by Ariosto, of a beautiful youth dying, to a Poppy surcharged with rain:

"6 'Sed viribus ensis adactus
Transadigit costas, et candida pectora rumpit,
Volvitur Euryalus leto, pulchrosque per artus
It cruor, inque humeros cervix collapsa recumbit.
Purpureus veluti cùm flos succisus aratro
Languescit moriens; lassove papavera collo
Demisêre caput, pluviâ cùm fortè gravantur.”

VIRGIL, Book IX.

"But the sword, strongly driven, pierces through his side, and rends his white bosom. Euryalus falls to the earth. The blood streams over his beauteous limbs, and his head droops upon his shoulder. Like a purple flower cut down by the plough, he languishes in death ; or as a poppy on its weary neck bows down its head, when overcharged with rain."

"Come purpurea fior languendo more,
Che l' vomere al passar tagliato lassa,
come carco di superchio umore
Il papaver nell' orto il capo abbassa ;
Così, quì della faccia ogni colore
Cadendo, Dardinel di vita passa ;
Passa di vita, e fa passar con lui
L'ardire, e la virtù di tutti i sui."

ARIOSTO, Canto 18, Stanza 158.

"Like the red flower which in its languor lies,
Left by the plough-share not to rise again;
Or as the poppy bows its head, and dies
Beneath the silver burthen of the rain;
So with his colour fled, and closing eyes,
Dardinel's soul is gone; he clasps the plain:

His soul is gone; and with it, gone and fled

The life and soul of all the men he led."

But Ariosto was not, it seems, the first copyist of this simile; Virgil himself copied it from Homer:

"As full-blown poppies, overcharged with rain,
Decline the head, and drooping, kiss the plain ;
So sinks the youth: his beauteous head, depress'd
Beneath his helmet, drops upon his breast."

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POPE'S HOMER, Book VIII.

PRIMULACEE.

PRIMROSE.

PRIMULA GRANDIFLORA.

PENTANDRIA MONOGYNIA.

Primula, from primus, being one of the earliest flowers in the spring. -French, primevère; olive.-Italian, prima-vera.

THIS little flower, in itself so fair, shows yet fairer from the early season of its appearance; peeping forth even from the retreating snows of winter: it forms a happy shade of union between the delicate snow-drop and the flaming crocus, which also venture forth in the very dawn of spring.

There are many varieties of the Primrose, so called (the Polyanthus and Auricula, though bearing other names, are likewise varieties); but the most common are the Sulphurcoloured and the Lilac. The Lilac Primrose does not equal the other in beauty; we do not often find it wild; it is chiefly known to us as a garden-flower. It is indeed the Sulphur-coloured Primrose which we particularly understand by that name: it is the Primrose: it is this which we associate with the cowslips and the meadows: it is this which shines like an earth-star from the grass by the brookside, lighting the hand to pluck it. We do indeed give the name of Primrose to the lilac flower, but we do this in

courtesy: we feel that it is not the Primrose of our youth; not the Primrose with which we have played at bo-peep in the woods; not the irresistible Primrose which has so often lured our young feet into the wet grass, and procured us coughs and chidings. There is a sentiment in flowers: there are flowers we cannot look upon, or even hear named, without recurring to something that has an interest in our hearts such are the Primrose, the Cowslip, the Mayflower, the Daisy, &c. &c.

:

A few Primrose-roots may be transplanted from their native woods or banks; or, should not these be within reach, may be purchased for the value of a few pence at CoventGarden flower-market. They are perennial; but, being so cheap, it is scarcely worth while to be encumbered with the unsightly roots in winter, when they may be so easily replaced; unless, indeed, we have an individual affection for them, as the gift of a friend, &c.; in such cases they may keep their station, observing now and then to give them a little water, when there is no frost. While in a growing state, they must be plentifully supplied with water, and shaded from the mid-day sun. They like a strong soil, but will thrive in almost any.

The Swedes put the leaves of the Primrose into their wine to flavour it; and in some parts of England they are eaten in salad.

The poets have not neglected to pay due honours to this sweet spring-flower, which unites in itself such delicacy of form, colour, and fragrance: they give it a forlorn and pensive character:

"Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies."

"Pale primroses

LYCIDAS.

That die unmarried, ere they can behold

Bright Phoebus in his strength."

WINTER'S TALE.

"The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose."

MILTON'S MAY MORNING.

"What next? a tuft of evening primroses,
O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes;
O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap

Of buds into ripe flowers."

KEATS.

"The Primrose, when with sixe leaves gotten grace,
Maids as a true-love in their bosoms place."

W. BROWNE.

The following lines give a pleasant picture of a kind of idly-musing tranquillity:

"As some wayfaring man passing a wood
Goes jogging on, and in his minde nought hath,
But how the primrose finely strew the path,
Or sweetest violets lay downe their heads,
At some tree's roote on mossie featherbeds."

W. BROWNE.

Wordsworth alludes to the early passing away of the Primrose :

"Primroses, the spring may love them,

Summer knows but little of them."

Ben Jonson calls it " The spring's own spouse."
Herrick addresses some lines to Primroses filled with

morning dew:

"Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears

Speak grief in you,

Who were but born

Just as the modest morn

Teemed her refreshing dew?

Alas! you have not known that shower

That mars a flower;

Nor felt the unkind

Breath of a blasting wind;
Nor are ye worn with years;

Or warped, as we,

Who think it strange to see

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young,
To speak by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known
The reason why

Ye droop and

weep:

Is it for want of sleep,

Or childish lullaby?

Or that ye have not seen as yet

The violet?"

The poems of Clare are as thickly strown with Primroses as the woods themselves; the two following passages are from the Village Minstrel :

"Oh, who can speak his joys when spring's young morn

From wood and pasture opened on his view;

When tender green buds blush upon the thorn,
And the first primrose dips its leaves in dew!

"And while he plucked the primrose in its pride,

He pondered o'er its bloom 'tween joy and pain;
And a rude sonnet in its praise he tried,

Where nature's simple way the aid of art supplied."

In another poem, after describing the village children rambling over the fields in search of flowers, he continues :

"I did the same in April time,

And spoilt the daisy's earliest prime;
Robbed every primrose-root I met,
And oft-times got the root to set;

And joyful home each nosegay bore,

And felt-as I shall feel no more

There is something very touching in the following lines written upon the death of a beloved wife, in childbirth :

"Who would have said, my love, when late through this

Romantic valley, we from bower to bower

Went gathering violets and primroses,

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