BY W. BAXTER, A. L. S. F. H. S. &c.

CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE BOTANICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON; CURAIOR OF THE BOTANIC GARDEN, OXFORD;

AND AUTHOR OF STIRPES CRYPTOGAME OXONIENSES.

ΤΟ

DAWSON TURNER, ESQ. M.A.

FELLOW OF THE ROYAL, ANTIQUARIAN, & LINNEAN SOCIETIES &c. &c. &c.

Earth's solid frame,-or hills which seemed designed

To prop the ethereal arch,—'tis passing sweet
Downward to glance and see ye at our feet

Nestling in quiet beauty, leaf-enshrin'd.

The mead, the hedge-row seem your fittest home;

But be it where it may, or rock's rude breast,

Or gloomy cavern, like the wreathed foam

On the vex'd billow, or the waving crest

On warrior's dinted helm, so your meek bloom
Can even terror with a charm invest.

But other spell methinks than beauty's power
Binds ye to human bosoms; ye appear

To share our moods; ye have for grief a tear
When evening bends ye 'neath her dewy shower,
For mirth a smile when morning's shining hour
Decks ye with light and gladness; on the dead
How oft your sweetest incence do ye shed,
And strew, as is most meet, the bridal bower!
Ye love the sunny brow of youth to bind,
To see gay childhood sport your haunts among;
But most when years leave childhood far behind,
In strains as moral as the preacher's tongue,'
Ye love to raise and purify the mind,
And wean us from the world's deluding throng."

Bath and Cheltenham Gazette.

MAY 29, 1838.