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| LADY FLORA gave cards for a party at tea, | |
| To flowers, buds, and blossoms of every degree; | |
| So from town and from country they throng’d at the call, | |
| And strove by their charms to embellish the hall. | |
| First came the exotics, with ornaments rare, | 5 |
| The tall Miss Corcoris, and Cyclamen fair, | |
| Auricula splendid, with jewels new-set, | |
| And gay Polyanthus, the pretty coquette. | |
| The Tulips came flaunting in gaudy array, | |
| With the Hyacinths, bright as the eye of the day; | 10 |
| Dandy Coxcombs and Daffodils, rich and polite, | |
| With their dazzling new vests, and their corsets laced light; | |
| While the Soldiers in Green, cavalierly attired, | |
| Were all by the ladies extremely admired. | |
| But prudish Miss Lily, with bosom of snow, | 15 |
| Declared that “those gentlemen stared at her so, | |
| It was horribly rude,”—so retired in a fright, | |
| And scarce stay’d to bid lady Flora good night. | |
| There were Myrtles and Roses from garden and plain, | |
| And Venus’s Fly-Trap they brought in their train, | 20 |
| So the beaux throng’d around them, they scarcely knew why, | |
| At the smile of the lip, or the glance of the eye. | |
| Madam Damask complain’d of her household and care, | |
| That she seldom went out save to breathe the fresh air, | |
| There were so many young ones and servants to stray, | 25 |
| And the thorns grew so fast, if her eye was away. | |
| “Neighbor Moss-Rose,” said she, “you who live like a queen, | |
| And ne’er wet your fingers, don’t know what I mean.” | |
| So the notable lady went on with her lay, | |
| Till her auditors yawn’d, or stole softly away. | 30 |
| The sweet Misses Woodbine from country and town, | |
| With their brother in law, the wild Trumpet, came down, | |
| And Lupine, whose azure eye sparkled with dew, | |
| On Amaranth lean’d, the unchanging and true; | |
| While modest Clematis appear’d as a bride, | 35 |
| And her husband, the Lilac, ne’er moved from her side, | |
| Though the belles giggled loudly, and said, “’T was a shame | |
| For a young married chit such attention to claim; | |
| They never attended a route in their life, | |
| Where a city-bred man ever spoke to his wife.” | 40 |
| Miss Piony came in quite late, in a heat, | |
| With the Ice-Plant, new spangled from forehead to feet; | |
| Lobelia, attired like a queen in her pride, | |
| And the Dalias, with trimmings new furnish’d and dyed, | |
| And the Blue-bells and Hare-bells, in simple array, | 45 |
| With all their Scotch cousins from highland and braé. | |
| Ragged Ladies and Marigolds cluster’d together, | |
| And gossip’d of scandal, the news and the weather; | |
| What dresses were worn at the wedding so fine | |
| Of sharp Mr Thistle, and sweet Columbine; | 50 |
| Of the loves of Sweet-William and Lily the prude, | |
| Till the clamors of Babel again seem’d renew’d. | |
| In a snug little nook sate the Jessamine pale, | |
| And that pure, fragrant Lily, the gem of the vale; | |
| The meek Mountain-Daisy, with delicate crest, | 55 |
| And the Violet, whose eye told the heaven in her breast; | |
| And allured to their group were the wise ones, who bow’d | |
| To that virtue which seeks not the praise of the crowd. | |
| But the proud Crown Imperial, who wept in her heart, | |
| That their modesty gain’d of such homage a part, | 60 |
| Look’d haughtily down on their innocent mien, | |
| And spread out her gown that they might not be seen. | |
| The bright Lady-Slippers and Sweet-Briars agreed | |
| With their slim cousin Aspens a measure to lead; | |
| And sweet ’t was to see their bright footsteps advance, | 65 |
| Like the wing of the breeze through the maze of the dance. | |
| But the Monk’s-Hood scowl’d dark, and, in utterance low, | |
| Declared “’t was high time for good christians to go; | |
| He ’d heard from his parson a sermon sublime, | |
| Where he proved from the Vulgate, to dance was a crime.” | 70 |
| So, folding the cowl round his cynical head, | |
| He took from the sideboard a bumper, and fled. | |
| A song was desired, but each musical flower | |
| Had “taken a cold, and ’t was out of her power;” | |
| Till sufficiently urged, they broke forth in a strain | 75 |
| Of quavers and trills that astonish’d the train. | |
| Mimosa sat trembling, and said, with a sigh, | |
| “’T was so fine, she was ready with rapture to die.” | |
| And Cactus, the grammar-school tutor, declared | |
| “It might be with the gamut of Orpheus compared; | 80 |
| Then moved himself round in a comical way, | |
| To show how the trees once had frisk’d at the lay. | |
| Yet Night-Shade, the metaphysician, complain’d, | |
| That the nerves of his ears were excessively pain’d; | |
| “’T was but seldom he crept from the college,” he said, | 85 |
| “And he wish’d himself safe in his study or bed.” | |
| There were pictures, whose splendor illumined the place | |
| Which Flora had finish’d with exquisite grace; | |
| She had dipp’d her free pencil in Nature’s pure dyes, | |
| And Aurora retouch’d with fresh purple the skies. | 90 |
| So the grave connoisseurs hasted near them to draw, | |
| Their knowledge to show, by detecting a flaw. | |
| The Carnation took her eye-glass from her waist, | |
| And pronounced they were “not in good keeping or taste;” | |
| While prim Fleur de Lis, in her robe of French silk, | 95 |
| And magnificent Calla, with mantle like milk, | |
| Of the Louvre recited a wonderful tale, | |
| And said “Guido’s rich tints made dame Nature turn pale.” | |
| The Snow-Ball assented, and ventured to add | |
| His opinion, that “all Nature’s coloring was bad;” | 100 |
| He had thought so, e’er since a few days he had spent | |
| To study the paintings of Rome, as he went | |
| To visit his uncle Gentiana, who chose | |
| His abode on the Alps, ’mid a palace of snows. | |
| But he took on Mont Blanc such a terrible chill, | 105 |
| That ever since that he ’d been pallid and ill.” | |
| Half wither’d Miss Hackmatack bought a new glass, | |
| And thought with her nieces, the Spruces, to pass; | |
| But bachelor Holly, who spy’d her out late, | |
| Destroy’d all her plans by a hint at her date. | 110 |
| So she pursed up her mouth, and said tartly, with scorn, | |
| “She could not remember before she was born.” | |
| Old Jonquil, the crooked-back’d beau, had been told | |
| That a tax would be laid upon bachelor’s gold; | |
| So he bought a new coat, and determined to try | 115 |
| The long disused armor of Cupid so sly; | |
| Sought for half-open’d buds in their infantine years, | |
| And ogled them all, till they blush’d to their ears. | |
| Philosopher Sage on a sofa was prosing. | |
| With dull Dr Chamomile quietly dozing; | 120 |
| Though the Laurel descanted, with eloquent breath, | |
| Of heroes and battles, of victory and death, | |
| Of the conquests of Greece, and Bozzaris the brave, | |
| “He had trod in his steps, and had sigh’d o’er his grave.” | |
| Farmer Sun-Flower was near, and decidedly spake | 125 |
| Of “the poultry he fed, and the oil he might make;” | |
| For the true hearted soul deem’d a weather-stain’d face, | |
| And a toil-harden’d hand were no marks of disgrace. | |
| Then he beckon’d his nieces to rise from their seat, | |
| The plump Dandelion, and Cowslip so neat, | 130 |
| And bade them to “pack up their duds and away, | |
| For the cocks crow’d so loud ’t was the break o’ the day.” | |
| —’T was indeed very late, and the coaches were brought, | |
| For the grave matron flowers of their nurseries thought; | |
| The lustre was dimm’d of each drapery rare, | 135 |
| And the lucid young brows look’d beclouded with care; | |
| All save the bright Cereus, that belle so divine, | |
| Who joy’d through the curtains of midnight to shine. | |
| Now they curtsey’d and bow’d as they moved to the door, | |
| But the Poppy snored loud ere the parting was o’er, | 140 |
| For Night her last candle was snuffing away, | |
| And Flora grew tired though she begg’d them to stay; | |
| Exclaim’d, “all the watches and clocks were too fast, | |
| And old Time ran in spite, lest her pleasures should last.” | |
| But when the last guest went, with daughter and wife, | 145 |
| She vow’d she “was never so glad in her life;” | |
| Call’d out to her maids, who with weariness wept, | |
| To “wash all the glasses and cups ere they slept;” | |
| For “Aurora,” she said, “with her broad staring eye, | |
| Would be pleased, in the house, some disorder to spy;” | 150 |
| Then sipp’d some pure honey-dew, fresh from the lawn, | |
| And with Zephyrus hasted to sleep until dawn. | |
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