Part 1
# The language of flowers : $b The floral offering ; a token of affection and esteem ; comprising the language and poetry of flowers ### By Dumont, Henrietta
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THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.
[Illustration: ROSE, BLUE VIOLET, JASMINE MOSS ROSE, BUD.
_Your beauty, modesty and amiability,_ _Have drawn from me a confession of love._ ]
The Language of Flowers.
THE
FLORAL OFFERING:
A
TOKEN OF AFFECTION AND ESTEEM;
COMPRISING
The Language and Poetry of Flowers.
WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS, FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS.
BY HENRIETTA DUMONT.
PHILADELPHIA: H. C. PECK & THEO. BLISS. 1851.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by H. C. PECK & THEO. BLISS, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON AND CO. PHILADELPHIA.
Preface.
Why has the beneficent Creator scattered over the face of the earth such a profusion of beautiful flowers--flowers by the thousand and million, in every land--from the tiny snowdrop that gladdens the chill spring of the north, to the gorgeous magnolia that flaunts in the sultry regions of the tropics? Why is it that every landscape has its appropriate flowers, every nation its national flowers, every rural home its home flowers? Why do flowers enter and shed their perfume over every scene of life, from the cradle to the grave? Why are flowers made to utter all voices of joy and sorrow in all varying scenes, from the chaplet that adorns the bride to the votive wreath that blooms over the tomb?
It is for no other reason than that flowers have in themselves a real and natural significance. They have a positive relation to man, his sentiments, passions, and feelings. They correspond to actual emotions. They have their mission--a mission of love and mercy. They have their language, and from the remotest ages this language has found its interpreters.
In the East the language of flowers has been universally understood and applied “time out of mind.” Its meaning finds a place in their poetry and in all their literature, and it is familiarly known among the people. In Europe it has existed and been recognised for long ages among the people, although scarcely noticed by the literati until a comparatively recent period. Shakspeare, however, whom nothing escaped which was known to the people, exhibits his intimate acquaintance with the language of flowers in his masterly delineation of the madness of Ophelia.
Recent writers in all languages recognise the beauty and propriety of this language to such an extent, that an acquaintance with it has now become indispensable as a part of a polished education.
Our little volume is devoted to the explanation of this beautiful language. We have made it as complete as our materials and limits would permit. We present it to our readers in the humble hope that we shall increase the means of elegant and innocent enjoyment by our “Floral Offering.”
Contents.
PAGE
Acacia, (Friendship) 123
Acanthus, (The arts) 140
Almond Blossom, (Indiscretion) 22
Aloe, (Grief) 28
Althea, (Consumed by love) 162
Amaranth, (Immortality) 100
Anemone, (Forsaken) 122
Ash Tree, (Grandeur) 222
Box, (Stoicism) 63
Broom, (Humility) 179
Cactus, (Ardent love) 26
Camellia Japonica, (Modest merit) 156
Chamomile, (Energy in adversity) 225
China Aster, (Variety) 200
Citron, (Estrangement) 227
Columbine, (Desertion) 87
Common Thistle, (Misanthropy) 243
Corn, (Riches) 186
Cowslip, (Pensiveness) 113
Coxcomb, (Singularity) 235
Cranberry, (Cure for the heartache) 188
Crocus, (Youth) 23
Cypress, (Mourning) 49
Dahlia, (Elegance and dignity) 154
Daisy, (Innocence) 39
Dandelion, (The rustic oracle) 132
Dead Leaves, (Death) 217
Dew Plant, (Serenade) 246
Dragon Plant, (You are near a snare) 229
Dyer’s Weed, (Relief) 166
Fennel, (Strength) 233
Fir, (Time) 238
Forget-me-not 116
Grass, (Submission) 236
Hawthorn, (Hope) 52
Hazel, (Peace, reconciliation) 204
Heliotrope, (Devoted affection) 106
Holly, (Foresight) 195
Hollyhock, (Ambition) 96
Hyacinth, (Constancy) 59
Ice Plant, (Frigidity) 25
Ivy, (Constancy) 193
Jasmine, (Amiability) 109
Juniper, (Protection) 203
Lady’s Slipper, (Capricious beauty) 160
Larkspur, (Flights of fancy) 164
Laurel, (Glory) 98
Lavender, (Distrust) 36
Lichen, (Solitude) 254
Lilac, (First emotions of love) 46
Lily, (Majesty) 67
Lily of the Valley, (Modesty) 58
Love-lies-bleeding, (Deserted love) 55
Marigold, (Grief) 72
Marvel of Peru, (Timidity) 143
Meadow Saffron, (My best days are past) 198
Mezereon, (Coquetry, desire to please) 13
Mignonette, (Your qualities surpass your charms) 108
Mistletoe, (I climb to greatness) 220
Moss, (Maternal love) 125
Moss Rose, (Confession of love) 69
Myrtle, (Love) 56
Narcissus and Daffodil, (Self-love) 65
Nasturtion, (Patriotism) 168
Nettles, (Cruelty) 86
Nightshade, or Bitter-sweet, (Truth) 170
Oak, (Nobility) 206
Oak Geranium, (Friendship) 150
Orchis, (A belle) 61
Pansy, (Think of me) 37
Passion Flower, (Faith) 89
Peony, (Anger) 85
Periwinkle, (Tender recollections) 43
Pimpernel, (The weather-glass) 133
Pine, (Pity) 248
Pink, (Pure love) 91
Poppy, (Consolation) 135
Primrose, (Early grief) 20
Red Rose, (Beauty and love) 77
Reed, (Single blessedness) 231
Rosemary, (Remembrance) 120
Sage, (Domestic virtues) 251
Scarlet Geranium, (Stupidity) 147
Sensitive Plant, (Chastity) 92
Snowdrop, (Hope) 15
Starwort, American, (Welcome) 202
St. John’s Wort, (Superstition) 181
Stock, (Lasting beauty) 145
Strawberry, (Perfection) 102
Sweet-Brier, or Eglantine, (Poetry) 45
Sweet-Flag--Acorus Calamus, (Grace) 172
Sunflower, (False riches) 104
Thorn-Apple, (Deceitful charms) 158
Thyme, (Activity) 94
Tuberose, (Dangerous love) 152
Tulip, (Declaration of love) 48
Valerian, (An accommodating disposition) 142
Vervain, (Enchantment) 184
Violet, (Modest worth) 31
Wall-Flower, (Fidelity in adversity) 51
White Water-Lily, (Purity) 70
White Rose, (I would be single) 74
Woodbine, or Honeysuckle, (Affection) 111
Wormwood, (Absence) 30
Yellow Rose, (Jealousy) 75
Yew, (Sorrow) 215
Death of the Flowers 257
Dictionary of Flowers 259
Calendar of Flowers 268
Dial of Flowers 293
The Floral Offering.
MEZEREON.... _Coquetry--Desire to please._
This shrub, clothed in its showy garb, appears amidst the snow, like an imprudent and coquettish female, who, though shivering with cold, wears her spring attire in the depth of winter. The stalk of this shrub is covered with a dry bark, which gives it the appearance of dead wood. Nature, to hide this deformity, has encircled each of its sprays with a wreath of red flowers, terminating in a tuft of leaves. These flowers give out a peculiar and offensive smell.
You oftentimes can mark upon the street The gilded toy whom fashion idolizes; Heartless and fickle, swelled with self-conceit, Avoiding alway what good sense advises. Who flutters like the butterfly while burns his sun, Nor afterwards is missed when life is done.
_W. H. C._
* * * * *
Clouds turn with every wind about; They keep us in suspense and doubt; Yet oft perverse, like woman-kind, Are seen to scud against the wind. Is not this lady just the same? For who can tell what is her aim?
_Swift._
* * * * *
Thou delightest the cold world’s gaze, When crowned with the flower and the gem, But thy lover’s smile should be dearer praise Than the incense thou prizest from them. And gay is the playful tone, As to the flattering voice thou respondest; But what is the praise of the cold and unknown To the tender blame of the fondest?
_John Everett._
* * * * *
Know, Celia, (since thou art so proud,) ’Twas I that gave thee thy renown: Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties, lived unknown, Had not my verse exhaled thy name, And with it impt the wings of Fame. That killing power is none of thine, I gave it to thy voice and eyes: Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine; Thou art my star, shin’st in my skies! Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere Lightning on him that fixed thee there.
_Thomas Carew._
SNOWDROP. ... _Hope._
The Snowdrop is looked upon as the herald of the approach of flower-wreathed Spring. The north winds howl; the naked branches of the trees are white with frost; the earth is carpeted with the virgin snow; the feathered musicians are silent; and stern Winter’s icy hand chills the rivulet till it ceases to murmur. At this season, a tender flower springs up amid the snow, expands its blossoms, and leads thought to the verdant hours to come. This beautiful sign of awakening Nature may aptly be considered as the emblem of Hope.
* * * * *
The Snowdrop, winter’s timid child, Awakes to life bedewed with tears, And flings around its fragrance mild; And, where no rival flowerets bloom, Amidst the bare and chilling gloom A beauteous gem appears. All weak and wan, with head inclined, Its parent breast the drifted snow, It trembles, while the ruthless wind Bends its slim form; the tempest lowers, Its emerald eye drops crystal showers On its cold bed below. Where’er I find thee, gentle flower, Thou still art sweet and dear to me; For I have known the cheerless hour, Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale, Have felt the chilling wintry gale, And wept and shrunk, like thee!
_Mary Robinson._
* * * * *
No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own; Responds, as if with unseen wings An angel touched its quivering strings, And whispers in its song, “Where hast thou stayed so long?”
_Longfellow._
* * * * *
The star of Hope will beam in Sorrow’s night, And smile the phantoms of Despair to flight.
_Anon._
* * * * *
“Why do you call the Snowdrop pale, Our first of flowerets bright? For the Christmas Rose came long before, So did the Aconite.” I know the yellow Aconite; I know the Christmas Rose: But neither one nor other e’er Within my garden grows. They seem to me presumptuous things, That rudely hurry on, And struggle for the precedence A fairer flower hath won. When I was but a wee, wee thing, A young Snowdrop I nursed, And I loved it when they told me how It always blossomed first. I marked its tiny, trembling stem, And dainty little bell, And, oh! so tenderly enjoyed Its faint, delicious smell. It was not only fair and sweet, ’Twas the first flower that came; So said they then, and there is none I could love now the same. The Aconite may deck with gold Its merry little face-- The Christmas Rose at Christmas bloom, But none can fill _her_ place. Within my garden’s small domain The Snowdrop still shall find Herself the earliest flower. She leads, The others come behind. And, lo! above the heaving mould The clustering bells hang here; Like foam upon the storm-black wave, Or pearls in Ethiop’s ear. And I know where they’re crowding thick, With none their wealth to note;-- All o’er that woody isle, that lies Girt by the ancient moat. There, under tall, dark crested firs, The Snowdrops spring each year; And shed about that gloomy place A lightness pale and clear. A grand old Manor House once stood On that dim moated isle; But long years since have floated by, And its story died the while. Yet roses, cultured ones, run wild, And fruits, grown rough and sour, That linger still around, tell tales Of garden and of bower. And so the Snowdrops may have dwelt In borders neat and trim, And gentle beings tended them, Though now all’s drear and dim. The brave and beautiful have died, Not e’en a name is known:-- Time hath laid low the stately house,-- Ye cannot find a stone. But still there runneth brightly there The little sedgy stream Into the moat, that lieth still And shadowy as a dream. And still there groweth plenteously The fragile Snowdrop’s bell:-- Oh, human pride! that thou wouldst list The tale these small things tell!
_Louisa A. Twamley._
* * * * *
As Hope, with bowed head, silent stood, And on her golden anchor leant, Watching below the angry flood, While Winter, mid the dreariment Half-buried in the drifted snow, Lay sleeping on the frozen ground, Not heeding how the wind did blow, Bitter and bleak on all around: She gazed on Spring, who at her feet Was looking on the snow and sleet. Spring sighed, and through the driving gale Her warm breath caught the falling snow, And from the flakes a flower as pale Did into spotless whiteness blow. Hope, smiling, saw the blossom fall, And watched its root strike in the earth: “I will that flower the Snowdrop call,” Said Hope, “in memory of its birth: And through all ages it shall be In reverence held, for love of me.” “And ever from my hidden bowers,” Said Spring, “it first of all shall go, And be the herald of the flowers, To warn away the sheeted snow. Its mission done, then by thy side All summer long it shall remain. While other flowers I scatter wide, O’er every hill, and wood, and plain, This shall return, and ever be A sweet companion, Hope, for thee.” Hope stooped and kissed her sister Spring, And said, “For hours, when thou art gone, I’m left alone without a thing That I can fix my heart upon: ’Twill cheer me many a lonely hour, And in the future I shall see Those who would sink raised by that flower; They’ll look on it, then think of thee: And many a sadful heart shall sing, The Snowdrop bringeth Hope and Spring.”
_Miller._
PRIMROSE. ... _Early Grief._
The Primrose is one of the earliest flowers of spring. It was anciently called Paralisos, the name of a beautiful youth, who died of grief for the loss of his betrothed Melicerta, and was metamorphosed by his parents into this flower, which has since been a favourite of the poets.
* * * * *
With fairest flowers, Whilst summer last, and I live here, Fidele, I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack The flower that’s like thy face, pale Primrose.
_Cymbeline._
* * * * *
The Primrose pale is Nature’s meek and modest child.
_Balfour._
* * * * *
Nay, weep not while thy sun shines bright, And cloudless is thy day, While past and present joys unite To cheer thee on thy way; While fond companions round thee move, To youth and nature true, And friends whose looks of anxious love Thy every step pursue.
_Common-Place Book of Poetry._
* * * * *
The Primrose, tenant of the glade, Emblem of virtue in the shade.
_John Mayne._
* * * * *
Ask me why I send you here This firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you This Primrose all bepearled with dew: I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are washed with tears. Ask me why this flower doth show So yellow, green, and sickly too; Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, yet it doth not break: I must tell you these discover What doubts and fears are in a lover.
_Thomas Carew._
* * * * *
By the soft green light in the woody glade, On the banks of moss where thy childhood played, By the household tree through which thine eye First looked in love to the summer sky; By the dewy gleam, by the very breath Of the Primrose-tufts in the grass beneath, Upon thy heart there is laid a spell, Holy and precious--oh, guard it well! Yes! when thy heart in its pride would stray From the first pure loves of its youth away; When the sullying breath of the world would come O’er the flowers it brought from its native home; Think thou again of the woody glade, Of the sound by the rustling ivy made; Think of the tree at thy father’s door, And the kindly spell shall have power once more.
_Mrs. Hemans._
ALMOND BLOSSOM. ... _Indiscretion._
The Almond tree is the first of the trees to put forth its blossoms, when spring breathes the breath of life through nature. It has been made the emblem of indiscretion, from flowering so early that frosts too often give a death-chill to the precocious germs of its fruit. In ancient times, the abundance of blossoms upon the Almond tree was considered to promise a fruitful season. The following is the fabulous account of the origin of this tree:--Demophoon, son of Theseus and Phædra, in returning from the siege of Troy, was thrown by a storm on the shores of Thrace, where then reigned the beautiful Phyllis. The young queen graciously received the prince, fell in love with him, and became his wife. When recalled to Athens by his father’s death, Demophoon promised to return in a month, and fixed the day. The loving Phyllis counted the hours of his absence, and, at last, the appointed day arrived. Nine times she repaired to the shore; but, losing all hope of his return, she died of grief, and was converted into an Almond tree. Soon afterwards, Demophoon returned. Overwhelmed with sorrow, he offered a sacrifice at the sea-side, to appease the manes of his bride. The Almond tree instantly put forth its blossoms, and seemed to sympathize with his repentance.
* * * * *
Oh! had I nursed when I was young The lessons of my father’s tongue, (The deep laborious thoughts he drew From all he saw, and others knew,) I might have been,--ah, me! Thrice sager than I e’er shall be. For what says Time? Alas! he only shows the truth Of all that I was told in youth.
_Barry Cornwall._
CROCUS. ... _Youth._
The Crocus is one of the earliest of the spring flowers, and, therefore, a fit emblem of the spring of life. It is a small flower, of variegated hues; the principal being purple, yellow, and white. The _Crocus Vernus_, or Spring Crocus, is a wild flower now in various parts of England, though not considered to be really a native of the country. We learn from the favourite writers, Mr. and Mrs. Howitt, that they are plentiful about Nottingham, “gleaming at a distance like a perfect flood of lilac, and tempting very many little hearts, and many graver ones too, to go out and gather.”
* * * * *
Oh! many a glorious flower there grows In far and richer lands; But high in my affection e’er The beautiful Crocus stands. I love their faces, when by one And two they’re looking out; I love them when the spreading field Is purple all about. I loved them in the by-gone years Of childhood’s thoughtless laughter, When I marvelled why the flowers came first, And the leaves the season after. I loved them then, I love them now-- The gentle and the bright; I love them for the thoughts they bring Of spring’s returning light; When, first-born of the waking earth, Their kindred gay appear, And, with the Snowdrop, usher in The hope-invested year.
_Louisa A. Twamley._
* * * * *
You’re glad Because your little tiny nose, Turns up so pert and funny; Because I know you choose your beaux More for their mirth than money; Because your eyes are deep and blue,-- Your fingers long and rosy; Because a little maid like you Would make one’s home so cozy; Because, I think, (I’m just so weak,) That some of these fine morrows You’ll listen while you hear me speak _My_ story, and _my_ sorrows!
_Anon._
* * * * *
Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast; Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue; Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly the approach of morn. Alas, regardless of their doom, The little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come, No care beyond to-day. Yet see how all around them wait, The ministers of human fate, And black misfortune’s baleful train, Ah! show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them they are men!
_Gray’s Eton College._
Life went a Maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young!
_Coleridge._
ICE-PLANT.... _Frigidity._
Canst thou no kindly ray impart, Thou strangely beauteous one? Fairer than fairest work of art, Yet cold as sculptured stone! Thou art in Friendship’s bright domain A flower that yields no fruit; And Love declares thy beauty vain;-- Of fragrance destitute!
_O. S. M. Ordway._
With pellucid studs the Ice-Flower gems His rimy foliage, and his candied stems.
_Darwin._
As water fluid is, till it do grow Solid and fixed by cold, So in warm seasons love doth loosely flow; Frost only can it hold; Your coldness and disdain Does the sweet course restrain.
_Cowley._
CACTUS.... _Ardent Love._
The flower of the Cactus is chosen to signify ardent love, because of the glowing hues of the flower itself, and the heat of the climate in which the plant grows to the greatest size. The gorgeousness of the flower of the Cactus needs no eulogy. No fitter emblem could have been selected to represent the passion of love in its full flame.
I think of thee, when soft and wide The evening spreads her robes of light, And, like a young and timid bride, Sits blushing in the arms of night: And when the moon’s sweet crescent springs In light o’er heaven’s deep waveless sea, And stars are forth like blessed things, I think of thee--I think of thee.
_G. W. Prentice._
Thou’rt like a star; for when my way was cheerless and forlorn, And all was blackness like the sky before a coming storm, Thy beaming smile and words of love, thy heart of kindness free, Illumed my path, then cheered my soul, and bade its sorrows flee. Thou’rt like a star--when sad and lone I wander forth to view The lamps of night, beneath their rays my spirit’s nerved anew, And thus I love to gaze on thee, and then I think thou’st power To mix the cup of joy for me, even in life’s darkest hour. Thou’rt like a star--whene’er my eye is upward turned to gaze Upon those orbs, I mark with awe their clear celestial blaze; And then thou seem’st so pure, so high, so beautifully bright, I almost feel as if it were an angel met my sight.
_American Ladies’ Magazine._
* * * * *
Could genius sink in dull decay, And wisdom cease to lend her ray; Should all that I have worshipped change, Even this could not my heart estrange; Thou still wouldst be the first, the first That taught the love sad tears have nursed.
_Mrs. Embury._
* * * * *
The sick soul That burns with love’s delusions, ever dreams, Dreading its losses. It for ever makes A gloomy shadow gather in the skies, And clouds the day; and looking far beyond The glory in its gaze, it sadly sees Countless privations, and far-coming storms, Shrinking from what it conjures.
_Simms’s Poems._
* * * * *
The rolling wheel, that runneth often round, The hardest steel in tract of time doth tear; And drizzling drops, that often do redound, Firmest flint doth in continuance wear: Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear, And long entreaty, soften her hard heart, That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to hear, Or look with pity on my painful smart: But when I plead, she bids me play my part; And when I weep, she says tears are but water; And when I sigh, she says I know the art; And when I wail, she turns herself to laughter; So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain, While she as steel and flint doth still remain.
_Spenser._
ALOE.... _Grief_.