as flies the father dust, The varied colors run, and while they break On the charmed eye, the exulting Florist marks With secret pride, the wonders of his hand Nor gradual bloom is wanting, from the bird, First born of spring, to Summer’s musky tribes Nor hyacinth, of purest virgin white, Low bent, and, blushing inward, nor jonquils, Of potent fragrance, nor Narcissus fair, As o’er the fabled fountain hanging still, Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks; Nor, showered from every bush, the damask rose.  Infinite varieties, delicacies, smells, With hues on hues expression cannot paint, The breath of Nature and her endless bloom.

Here are two bouquets of flowers from the garden of Cowper

                            Laburnum, rich
    In streaming gold, syringa, ivory pure,
    The scentless and the scented rose, this red,
    And of an humbler growth, the other[063] tall,
    And throwing up into the darkest gloom
    Of neighboring cypress, or more sable yew,
    Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf
    That the wind severs from the broken wave,
    The lilac, various in array, now white,
    Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set
    With purple spikes pyramidal, as if
    Studious of ornament yet unresolved
    Which hue she most approved, she chose them all,
    Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan,
    But well compensating her sickly looks
    With never cloying odours, early and late,
    Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm
    Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods,
    That scarce a loaf appears, mezereon too,
    Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset
    With blushing wreaths, investing every spray,
    Althaea with the purple eye, the broom
    Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy’d,
    Her blossoms, and luxuriant above all
    The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets,
    The deep dark green of whose unvarnish’d leaf
    Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more,
    The bright profusion of her scatter’d stars

* * * * *

    Th’ amomum there[064] with intermingling flowers
    And cherries hangs her twigs.  Geranium boasts
    Her crimson honors, and the spangled beau
    Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long
    All plants, of every leaf, that can endure
    The winter’s frown, if screened from his shrewd bite,
    Live their and prosper.  Those Ausonia claims,
    Levantine regions those, the Azores send
    Their jessamine, her jessamine remote
    Caffraia, foreigners from many lands,
    They form one social shade as if convened
    By magic summons of the Orphean lyre

Here is a bunch of flowers laid before the public eye by Mr. Proctor—­