There from richer banks
Culling out flowers, which in a learned order
Do become characters, whence they disclose
Their mutual meanings, garlands then and nosegays
Being framed into epistles.
Cartwright's "Love's Covenant."
An exquisite invention this,
Worthy of Love's most honied kiss,
This art of writing billet-doux
In buds and odours and bright hues,
In saying all one feels and thinks
In clever daffodils and pinks,
Uttering (as well as silence may,)
The sweetest words the sweetest way.
Leigh Hunt.
Yet, no--not words, for they
But half can tell love's feeling;
Sweet flowers alone can say
What passion fears revealing.[066]
A once bright rose's withered leaf--
A towering lily broken--
Oh, these may paint a grief
No words could e'er have spoken.
Moore.
By all those token flowers that tell
What words can ne'er express so well.
Byron.
A mystic language, perfect in each part.
Made up of bright hued thoughts and perfumed speeches.
Adams.
If we are to believe Shakespeare it is not human beings only who use a
floral language:--
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
Sir Walter Scott tells us that:--
The myrtle bough bids lovers live--
A sprig of hawthorn has the same meaning as a sprig of myrtle: it gives
hope to the lover--the sweet heliotrope tells the depth of his
passion,--if he would charge his mistress with levity he presents the
larkspur,--and a leaf of nettle speaks her cruelty. Poor Ophelia (in
Hamlet) gives rosemary for remembrance, and pansies (pensees) for
thoughts. The laurel indicates victory in war or success with the Muses,
"The meed of mighty conquerors and poets sage."
The ivy wreathes the brows of criticism. The fresh vine-leaf cools the
hot forehead of the bacchanal. Bergamot and jessamine imply the
fragrance of friendship.
The Olive is the emblem of peace--the Laurel, of glory--the Rue, of
grace or purification (Ophelia's Herb of Grace O'Sundays)--the
Primrose, of the spring of human life--the Bud of the White Rose, of
Girl-hood,--the full blossom of the Red Rose, of consummate beauty--the
Daisy, of innocence,--the Butter-cup, of gold--the Houstania, of
content--the Heliotrope, of devotion in love--the Cross of Jerusalem, of
devotion in religion--the Forget-me-not, of fidelity--the Myrrh, of
gladness--the Yew, of sorrow--the Michaelmas Daisy, of cheerfulness in
age--the Chinese Chrysanthemum, of cheerfulness in adversity--the Yellow
Carnation, of disdain--the Sweet Violet, of modesty--the white
Chrysanthemum, of truth--the Sweet Sultan, of felicity--the Sensitive
Plant, of maiden shyness--the Yellow Day Lily, of coquetry--the
Snapdragon, of presumption--the Broom, of humility--the Amaryllis, of
pride--the Grass, of submission--the Fuschia, of taste--the Verbena, of
sensibility--the Nasturtium, of splendour--the Heath, of solitude--the
Blue Periwinkle, of early friendship--the Honey-suckle, of the bond of
love--the Trumpet Flower, of fame--the Amaranth, of immortality--the
Adonis, of sorrowful remembrance,--and the Poppy, of oblivion.
The Witch-hazel indicates a spell,--the Cape Jasmine says I'm too
happy--the Laurestine, I die if I am neglected--the American Cowslip,
You are a divinity--the Volkamenica Japonica, May you be happy--the
Rose-colored Chrysanthemum, I love,--and the Venus' Car, Fly with
me.
For the following illustrations of the language of flowers I am indebted
to a useful and well conducted little periodical published in London and
entitled the Family Friend;--the work is a great favorite with the
fair sex.
"Of the floral grammar, the first rule to be observed is, that the
pronoun I or me is expressed by inclining the symbol flower to the
left, and the pronoun thou or thee by inclining it to the right.
When, however, it is not a real flower offered, but a representation
upon paper, these positions must be reversed, so that the symbol leans
to the heart of the person whom it is to signify.
The second rule is, that the opposite of a particular sentiment
expressed by a flower presented upright is denoted when the symbol is
reversed; thus a rose-bud sent upright, with its thorns and leaves,
means, "I fear, but I hope." If the bud is returned upside down, it
means, "You must neither hope nor fear." Should the thorns, however,
be stripped off, the signification is, "There is everything to hope;"
but if stript of its leaves, "There is everything to fear." By this it
will be seen that the expression of almost all flowers may be varied by
a change in their positions, or an alteration of their state or
condition. For example, the marigold flower placed in the hand signifies
"trouble of spirits;" on the heart, "trouble or love;" on the bosom,
"weariness." The pansy held upright denotes "heart's ease;"
reversed, it speaks the contrary. When presented upright, it says,
"Think of me;" and when pendent, "Forget me." So, too, the
amaryllis, which is the emblem of pride, may be made to express, "My
pride is humbled," or, "Your pride is checked," by holding it
downwards, and to the right or left, as the sense requires. Then, again,
the wallflower, which is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, if
presented with the stalk upward, would intimate that the person to whom
it was turned was unfaithful in the time of trouble.
The third rule has relation to the manner in which certain words may be
represented; as, for instance, the articles, by tendrils with single,
double, and treble branches, as under--
The numbers are represented by leaflets running from one to eleven, as
thus--
From eleven to twenty, berries are added to the ten leaves thus--
From twenty to one hundred, compound leaves are added to the other ten
for the decimals, and berries stand for the odd numbers so--
A hundred is represented by ten tens; and this may be increased by a
third leaflet and a branch of berries up to 999.
 A thousand may be symbolized by a frond of fern, having ten or more
leaves, and to this a common leaflet may be added to increase the number
of thousands. In this way any given number may be represented in
foliage, such as the date of a year in which a birthday, or other event,
occurs, to which it is desirable to make allusion, in an emblematic
wreath or floral picture. Thus, if I presented my love with a mute yet
eloquent expression of good wishes on her eighteenth birthday, I should
probably do it in this wise:--Within an evergreen wreath (lasting as my
affection), consisting of ten leaflets and eight berries (the age of
the beloved), I would place a red rose bud (pure and lovely), or a
white lily (pure and modest), its spotless petals half concealing a
ripe strawberry (perfect excellence); and to this I might add a
blossom of the rose-scented geranium (expressive of my preference), a
peach blossom to say "I am your captive" fern for sincerity, and
perhaps bachelor's buttons for hope in love"--Family Friend.
There are many anecdotes and legends and classical fables to illustrate
the history of shrubs and flowers, and as they add something to the
peculiar interest with which we regard individual plants, they ought not
to be quite passed over by the writers upon Floriculture.
THE FLOS ADONIS.
The Flos Adonis, a blood-red flower of the Anemone tribe, is one of the
many plants which, according to ancient story sprang from the tears of
Venus and the blood of her coy favorite.
Rose cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn
Shakespeare.
Venus, the Goddess of Beauty, the mother of Love, the Queen of Laughter,
the Mistress of the Graces and the Pleasures, could make no impression
on the heart of the beautiful son of Myrrha, (who was changed into a
myrrh tree,) though the passion-stricken charmer looked and spake with
the lip and eye of the fairest of the immortals. Shakespeare, in his
poem of Venus and Adonis, has done justice to her burning eloquence,
and the lustre of her unequalled loveliness. She had most earnestly, and
with all a true lover's care entreated Adonis to avoid the dangers of
the chase, but he slighted all her warnings just as he had slighted her
affections. He was killed by a wild boar. Shakespeare makes Venus thus
lament over the beautiful dead body as it lay on the blood-stained
grass.
Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? What can'st thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?
The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim,
But true sweet beauty lived and died with him.
In her ecstacy of grief she prophecies that henceforth all sorts of
sorrows shall be attendants upon love,--and alas! she was too correct an
oracle.
The course of true love never does run smooth.
Here is Shakespeare's version of the metamorphosis of Adonis into a
flower.
By this the boy that by her side lay killed
Was melted into vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled,
A purple flower sprang up, checquered with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.
She bows her head, the new sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell
Since he himself is reft from her by death;
She crops the stalk, and in the branch appears
Green dropping sap which she compares to tears.
The reader may like to contrast this account of the change from human
into floral beauty with the version of the same story in Ovid as
translated by Eusden.
Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows,
The scented blood in little bubbles rose;
Little as rainy drops, which fluttering fly,
Borne by the winds, along a lowering sky,
Short time ensued, till where the blood was shed,
A flower began to rear its purple head
Such, as on Punic apples is revealed
Or in the filmy rind but half concealed,
Still here the fate of lonely forms we see,
So sudden fades the sweet Anemone.
The feeble stems to stormy blasts a prey
Their sickly beauties droop, and pine away
The winds forbid the flowers to flourish long
Which owe to winds their names in Grecian song.
The concluding couplet alludes to the Grecian name of the flower
([Greek: anemos], anemos, the wind.)
It is said of the Anemone that it never opens its lips until Zephyr
kisses them. Sir William Jones alludes to its short-lived beauty.
Youth, like a thin anemone, displays
His silken leaf, and in a morn decays.
Horace Smith speaks of
The coy anemone that ne'er discloses
Her lips until they're blown on by the wind
Plants open out their leaves to breathe the air just as eagerly as they
throw down their roots to suck up the moisture of the earth. Dr. Linley,
indeed says, "they feed more by their leaves than their roots." I lately
met with a curious illustration of the fact that plants draw a larger
proportion of their nourishment from light and air than is commonly
supposed. I had a beautiful convolvulus growing upon a trellis work in
an upper verandah with a south-western aspect. The root of the plant was
in pots. The convolvulus growing too luxuriantly and encroaching too
much upon the space devoted to a creeper of another kind, I separated
its upper branches from the root and left them to die. The leaves began
to fade the second day and most of them were quite dead the third or
fourth day, but two or three of the smallest retained a sickly life for
some days more. The buds or rather chalices outlived the leaves. The
chalices continued to expand every morning, for--I am afraid to say how
long a time--it might seem perfectly incredible. The convolvulus is a
plant of a rather delicate character and I was perfectly astonished at
its tenacity of life in this case. I should mention that this happened
in the rainy season and that the upper part of the creeper was partially
protected from the sun.
The Anemone seems to have been a great favorite with Mrs. Hemans. She
thus addresses it.
Flower! The laurel still may shed
Brightness round the victor's head,
And the rose in beauty's hair
Still its festal glory wear;
And the willow-leaves droop o'er
Brows which love sustains no more
But by living rays refined,
Thou the trembler of the wind,
Thou, the spiritual flower
Sentient of each breeze and shower,[067]
Thou, rejoicing in the skies
And transpierced with all their dyes;
Breathing-vase with light o'erflowing,
Gem-like to thy centre flowing,
Thou the Poet's type shall be
Flower of soul, Anemone!
The common anemone was known to the ancients but the finest kind was
introduced into France from the East Indies, by Monsieur Bachelier, an
eminent Florist. He seems to have been a person of a truly selfish
disposition, for he refused to share the possession of his floral
treasure with any of his countrymen. For ten years the new anemone from
the East was to be seen no where in Europe but in Monsieur Bachelier's
parterre. At last a counsellor of the French Parliament disgusted with
the florist's selfishness, artfully contrived when visiting the garden
to drop his robe upon the flower in such a manner as to sweep off some
of the seeds. The servant, who was in his master's secret, caught up the
robe and carried it away. The trick succeeded; and the counsellor shared
the spoils with all his friends through whose agency the plant was
multiplied in all parts of Europe.
THE OLIVE.
The OLIVE is generally regarded as an emblem of peace, and should have
none but pleasant associations connected with it, but Ovid alludes to a
wild species of this tree into which a rude and licentious fellow was
converted as a punishment for "banishing the fair," with indecent words
and gestures. The poet tells us of a secluded grotto surrounded by
trembling reeds once frequented by the wood-nymphs of the sylvan race:--
Till Appulus with a dishonest air
And gross behaviour, banished thence the fair.
The bold buffoon, whene'er they tread the green,
Their motion mimics, but with jest obscene;
Loose language oft he utters; but ere long
A bark in filmy net-work binds his tongue;
Thus changed, a base wild olive he remains;
The shrub the coarseness of the clown retains.
Garth's Ovid.
The mural of this is excellent. The sentiment reminds me of the Earl of
Roscommon's well-known couplet in his Essay on Translated Verse, a
poem now rarely read.
Immodest words admit of no defense,[068]
For want of decency is want of sense,
| 
