THE BIRTH OF THE LILY.

The Rose had bloomed in Eden. Odors new Entranced the groves; and iridescent birds, At this new birth of beauty, sudden rose In richest chorus, bearing up the balm Upon their beating wings. The bee had learned The place of golden sweets, the butterfly Loved well to dream within those crimson folds, And Eve had made a garland delicate, Of feathery sprays and leaves and drooping bells, And placed the Rose, the queen of bloom, above The centre of her brow. Thus she bound up The golden ripples that fell down and broke O'er her white breast, hiding the bosom buds, That never yet had yielded up their sweets To the warm pressure of an infant's lip. And Eve had bent above the glassy lake, Smiling upon her picture, pressing close The soft cheek of the Rose upon her own, And praising God for beauty and for life. But now a morn had come more strangely dear Than Eden yet had known. The sleeping wind Woke not to stir the fringes of the lake, Nor shook the odors from the scented plant. A silver, misty wreath closed fondly down Above the waveless tide. The insect world Lay waiting in the leaves, as though a spell Had hushed Creation; yet expectant thrills Ran through the silence, for the loaded air Grew lighter, purer, and the recent Rose Drooped her proud head in meekness, and the face Of heaven flushed with burning brilliancy, Above some coming wonder. One by one The beasts and birds of Paradise came down, With noiseless movement, to the water's edge, And waited on the margin. Creatures huge, With honest, liquid eyes, and those that stepped With cushioned feet and feathered footfall, stole About the brink, with all the tribe that gave The forest life. The serpent reared its crest, Not yet polluted with the valley's dust, And stood like one with royal gems encrowned; While beast, and bird, and serpent turned to gaze Upon each other with inquiring eyes, And half-bewildered glance. Then last of all Came Eve with Adam to the circling rim, Her fingers grasping roses, and her lip All beautiful with Love's own witchery. She stood and noted with admiring look The strength of Adam's form, the expansive chest, The sloping muscle, and the sinew knit, The firm athletic limb, and every grace Combined and joined in that first, perfect man. Then Eve, grown humble in her wondrous love Of Adam's beauty, knelt upon the turf, While her long hair fell down in shining waves, And pressed her lip upon his dew-washed feet: Then with her agitated fingers broke The foxglove pitcher from the stem, and stooped To fill it up for him; but quickly drew Her pearl-white hand away from the still lake, And held it o'er her heart, with such a look Of awe and mystery, as if a spell Was on the water, that she dared not break. So all was hushed and waiting; when, behold! A flash of gold shot from the silver East, A gush of new perfume spread through the grove, The Rose drooped lower, and the impatient birds, Loosed from restraint, sang in a strain refined Of dulcet clearness, such as those young bowers Had never heard before. The beast crouched down Upon the velvet turf, the serpent's crown Flashed richer splendor, and the angel-guard Whose fearful sword gleamed by the Tree of Life, His very plumes were tremulous with joy. Then Eve looked o'er the swelling wave, and, lo! The lake was overspread with blooming stars, Or snowy golden-centred cups, that rocked And spilled the choicest incense. Adam cried, 'The Lily;' but the sweet voice at his side, Grown tremulous and faint with overjoy, Could only whisper, 'Purity.' Then quick, With restless hands, she culled the floral star— Queen of the wave—emblem of innocence, And hung it in the lion's matted mane, And twined it round the serpent's glittering neck; Thus humoring her fancy in the play Till half the morning hours had slipped and gone. Then, startled by the voice she loved so well, She left the sport, the creatures, and the flowers, And hastened back with Adam to the trees Where God was walking in the solemn shade. O mother frail, thou hast not known a tear! Thy spirit, clothed in simple innocence, Wears the true garb of bliss. Not yet thy hour Of sorrow and departure; nor the pangs And mystery of motherhood are thine! And yet, weak one! some day, because of thee, God's love shall give a Saviour to the world!