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〃Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime；〃
and I was only trying to see how near I could approach to his exquisite metre。 I do not think I felt at all murderous in writing it； but a more innocent subject would have been in better taste； and would have met the exigencies of the dactyl quite as well。
It is also only fair to myself to say that my rhyming was usually of a more wholesome kind。 I loved Nature as I knew her；in our stern； blustering； stimulating New England；and I chanted the praises of Winter； of snow…storms； and of March winds （I always took pride in my birth month； March）； with hearty delight。
Flowers had begun to bring me messages from their own world when I was a very small child； and they never withdrew their companionship from my thoughts； for there came summers when I could only look out of the mill window and dream about them。
I had one pet window plant of my own； a red rosebush； almost a perpetual bloomer； that I kept beside me at my work for years。 I parted with it only when I went away to the West； and then with regret； for it had been to me like a human little friend。 But the wild flowers had my heart。 I lived and breathed with them； out under the free winds of heaven； and when I could not see them； I wrote about them。 Much that I contributed to those mill…magazine pages； they suggested；my mute teachers； comforters； and inspirers。 It seems to me that any one who does not care for wild flowers misses half the sweetness of this mortal life。
Horace Smith's 〃Hymn to the Flowers〃 was a continual delight to me； after I made its acquaintance。 It seemed as if all the wild blossoms of the woods had wandered in and were twining themselves around the whirring spindles； as I repeated it； verse after verse。 Better still； they drew me out； in fancy； to their own forest…haunts under 〃cloistered boughs；〃 where each swinging 〃floral bell〃 was ringing 〃a call to prayer；〃 and making 〃Sab… bath in the fields。〃
Bryant's 〃Forest Hymn〃 did me an equally beautiful service。 I knew every word of it。 It seemed to me that Bryant understood the very heart and soul of the flowers as hardly anybody else did。 He made me feel as if they were really related to us human beings。 In fancy my feet pressed the turf where they grew； and I knew them as my little sisters； while my thoughts touched them； one by one； saying with him；
〃That delicate forest…flower； With scented breath； and look so like a smile； Seems； as it issues from the shapeless mould； An emanation of the indwelling Life； A visible token of the upholding Love； That are the soul of this wide universe。〃
I suppose that most of my readers will scarcely be older than I was when I wrote my sermonish little poems under the inspiration of the flowers at my factory work； and perhaps they will be interested in reading a specimen or two from the 〃Lowell Offer… ing：〃
LIVE LIKE THE FLOWERS。
Cheerfully wave they o'er valley and mountain； Gladden the desert； and smile by the fountain； Pale discontent in no young blossom lowers： Live like the flowers！
Meekly their buds in the heavy rain bending； Softly their hues with the mellow light blending； Gratefully welcoming sunlight and showers： Live like the flowers！
Freely their sweets on the wild breezes flinging； While in their depths are new odors upspringing： （Blessedness twofold of Love's holy dowers；） Live like the flowers！
Gladly they heed Who their brightness has given： Blooming on earth； look they all up to heaven； Humbly look up from their loveliest bowers： … Live like the flowers！
Peacefully droop they when autumn is sighing； Breathing mild fragrance around them in dying； Sleep they in hope of Spring's freshening hours： Die like the flowers！
The prose…poem that follows was put into a rhymed version by several unknown hands in periodicals of that day； so that at last I also wrote one； in self…defense； to claim my own waif。 But it was a prose…poem that I intended it to be； and I think it is better so。
〃BRING BACK MY FLOWERS。〃
On the bank of a rivulet sat a rosy child。 Her lap was filled with flowers； and a garland of rose…buds was twined around her neck。 Her face was as radiant as the sunshine that fell upon it； and her voice was as clear as that of the bird which warbled at her side。
The little stream went singing on； and with every gush of its music the child lifted a flower in her dimpled hand； and； with a merry laugh； threw it upon the water。 In her glee she forgot that her treasures were growing less； and with the swift motion of childhood； she flung them upon the sparkling tide； until every bud and blossom had disappeared。
Then； seeing her loss； she sprang to her feet； and bursting into tears； called aloud to the stream； 〃Bring back my flowers！〃 But the stream danced along； regardless of her sorrow； and as it bore the blooming burden away； her words came back in a taunting echo； along its reedy margin。 And long after； amid the wailing of the breeze and the fitful bursts of childish grief； was heard the fruitless cry； 〃Bring back my flowers！〃
Merry maiden； who art idly wasting the precious moments so bountifully bestowed upon thee； see in the thoughtless child an emblem of thyself！ Each moment is a perfumed flower。 Let its fragrance be diffused in blessings around thee； and ascend as sweet incense to the beneficent Giver！
Else； when thou hast carelessly flung them from thee； and seest them receding on the swift waters of Time； thou wilt cry； in tones more sorrowful than those of the weeping child； 〃Bring back my flowers！〃 And thy only answer will be an echo from the shadowy Past；〃Bring back my flowers！〃
In the above； a reminiscence of my German studies comes back to me。 I was an admirer of Jean Paul； and one of my earliest attempts at translation was his 〃New Year's Night of an Unhappy Man；〃 with its yet haunting glimpse of 〃a fair long paradise beyond the mountains。〃 I am not sure but the idea of trying my hand at a 〃prose…poem〃 came to me from Richter； though it may have been from Herder or Krummacher； whom I also enjoyed and attempted to translate。
I have a manuscript…book still； filled with these youthful efforts。 I even undertook to put German verse into English verse； not wincing at the greatestGoetlie and Schiller。 These studies were pursued in the pleasant days of cloth…room leisure； when my work claimed me only seven or eight hours in a day。
I suppose I should have tried to write；perhaps I could not very well have helped attempting it；under any circumstances。 My early efforts would not； probably； have found their way into print； however； but for the coincident publication of the two mill…girls' magazines； just as I entered my teens。 I fancy that almost everything any of us offered them was published； though I never was let in to editorial secrets。 The editors of both magazines were my seniors； and I felt greatly honored by their approval of my contributions。
One of the 〃Offering〃 editors was a Unitarian clergyman's daughter； and had received an excellent education。 The other was a remarkably brilliant and original young woman； who wrote novels that were published by the Harpers of New York while she was employed at Lowell。 The two had rooms together for a time； where the members of the 〃Improvement Circle；〃 chiefly composed of 〃Offering〃 writers； were hospitably received。
The 〃Operatives' Magazine〃 and the 〃Lowell Offerig〃 were united in the year 1842； under the title of the 〃Lowell Offering and Ma… gazine。〃
（Andto correct a mistake which has crept into printI will say that I never attained the honor of being editor of either of these magazines。 I was only one of their youngest contributors。 The 〃Lowell Offering〃 closed its existence when I was a little more than twenty years old。 The only continuous editing I have ever been engaged in was upon 〃Our Young Folks。〃 About twenty years ago I was editor…in…charge of that magazine for a year or more； and I had previously been its assistant…editor from its beginning。 These explanatory items； however； do not quite belong to my narrative； and I return to our magazines。）
We did not receive much criticism； perhaps it would have been better for us if we had。 But then we did lot set ourselves up to be literary； though we enjoyed the freedom of writing what we pleased； and seeing how it looked in print。 It was good practice for us； and that was all that we desired。 We were complimented and quoted。 When a Philadelphia paper copied one of my little poems； suggesting some verbal improvements； and predicting recognition for me in the future； I felt for the first time that there might be such a thing as public opinion worth caring for； in addition to doing one's best for its own sake。
Fame； indeed； never had much attraction for me； except as it took the form of friendly recognition and the sympathetic approval of worthy judges。 I wished to do good and true things； but not such as would subject me to the stare of coldly curious eyes。 I could never imagine a girl feeling any pleasure in placing herself 〃before the public。〃 The privilege of seclusion must be the last one a woman can willingly sacrifice。 And； indeed； what we wrote was not remarkable；perhaps no more so than