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THE REBEL FLOWER.
The origin of this is thus told by Gardner in his Revolutionary Anecdotes: “An English officer distinguished by his inhumanity and constant oppression of the unfortunate, meeting Mrs. Charles Elliott in a garden adorned with a great variety of flowers, asked the name of the Chamomile, which appeared to flourish with peculiar luxuriance. “The Rebel Flower,” she replied.” “Why was the name given to it?” said the officer. “Because,” rejoined the lady, “it thrives most when most trampled
upon.
The origin of this is thus told by Gardner in his Revolutionary Anecdotes: “An English officer distinguished by his inhumanity and constant oppression of the unfortunate, meeting Mrs. Charles Elliott in a garden adorned with a great variety of flowers, asked the name of the Chamomile, which appeared to flourish with peculiar luxuriance. “The Rebel Flower,” she replied.” “Why was the name given to it?” said the officer. “Because,” rejoined the lady, “it thrives most when most trampled upon.
It has not a home in the pride of the palace,
The gayest, the proudest of many around;
Nor yet does it bloom in the mountains and vallies,
Where the rod of the tyrant is still to be found.
Oh, no! far away, where the shrine is undying,
That man with God's image erects for the free,
In that land shall we look, where the eagle is crying,
Her proudest of war-notes for freedom and thee!
The gayest, the proudest of many around;
Nor yet does it bloom in the mountains and vallies,
Where the rod of the tyrant is still to be found.
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That man with God's image erects for the free,
In that land shall we look, where the eagle is crying,
Her proudest of war-notes for freedom and thee!
In thee, all the likeness of hearts we discover,
Where the spark of the soul is undying and pure,
Which had learnt from its sorrows, to view like a lover,
The death that its griefs had long taught to endure—
But yet with the scorn that it ever had cherish'd,
Its look was still proud and unbending as thee;
And in the last moment, ere being had perish'd,
Proclaim'd to the world that thy spirit was free.
Where the spark of the soul is undying and pure,
Which had learnt from its sorrows, to view like a lover,
The death that its griefs had long taught to endure—
But yet with the scorn that it ever had cherish'd,
Its look was still proud and unbending as thee;
And in the last moment, ere being had perish'd,
Proclaim'd to the world that thy spirit was free.
And thus, thro' oppression and tears shall we find thee,
Thou emblem of light, that may break but not bend;
That looks upon life as the shadow behind thee,
Which must cease to exist when thy spirit shall end.
But which still from itself and the fire within it,
Receives a new being, that dies not with thee,
Yet would merit that fate, if but one hapless minute,
It lost the pure light that encircled the free.
Thou emblem of light, that may break but not bend;
That looks upon life as the shadow behind thee,
Which must cease to exist when thy spirit shall end.
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Receives a new being, that dies not with thee,
Yet would merit that fate, if but one hapless minute,
It lost the pure light that encircled the free.
Live on, tho' the locusts of Tyranny gather,
The simoom they bring on their wings cannot blight;
Like the bee that drinks poison from flow'rs, they rather,
Shall meet but with death, where they sought for delight.
Live on, and the temple, we worship our God in,
Shall bear still the emblem inseparate from thee;
It is thine to grow prouder the more thou'rt trodden—
Live on then proud emblem! unshackled and free!
The simoom they bring on their wings cannot blight;
Like the bee that drinks poison from flow'rs, they rather,
Shall meet but with death, where they sought for delight.
Live on, and the temple, we worship our God in,
Shall bear still the emblem inseparate from thee;
It is thine to grow prouder the more thou'rt trodden—
Live on then proud emblem! unshackled and free!
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