Columbine.... Desertion.

Bring Lilies for a maiden’s grave, Roses to deck the bride, Tulips for all who love through life In brave attire to ride: Bring each for each, in bower and hall, But cull the Columbine for all. “The Columbine? full many a flower Hath hues more clear and bright, Although she doth in purple go, In crimson, pink, and white. Why, when so many fairer shine, Why choose the homely Columbine?” Examine well each floweret’s form,— Read ye not something more Than curl of petal—depth of tint? Saw ye ne’er aught before That claims a fancied semblance there. Amid those modelled leaves so fair? Know ye the cap which Folly wears In ancient masques and plays? Does not the Columbine recall That toy of olden days? And is not folly reigning now O’er many a wisdom-written brow? ’Tis Folly’s flower, that homely one; That universal guest Makes every garden but a type Of every human breast; For though ye tend both mind and bower, There’s still a nook for Folly’s flower. Then gather roses for the bride, Twine them in her bright hair, But, ere the wreath be done—oh! let The Columbine be there. For rest ye sure that follies dwell In many a heart that loveth well. Gather ye laurels for the brow Of every prince of song! For all, to whom philosophy And wisdom do belong. But ne’er forget to intertwine A flower or two of Columbine. Forget it not;—for even they, The oracles of earth, Mid all their wealth of golden thoughts, Their wisdom and their worth, Sometimes play pranks beneath the sky, Would scarce become e’en such as I! Weave ye an armful of that plant, Choosing the darkest flowers, With that red, blood-dipped wreath ye bring The devastating powers Of warrior, conqueror, or chief; Oh! twine that full of Folly’s leaf! And do ye ask me why this flower Is fit for every brow? Tell me but one where Folly ne’er Hath dwelt, nor dwelleth now, And I will then the laurel twine, Unmingled with the Columbine. Louisa A. Twamley.