VIOLET. 83 



VIOLETS. — A SONNET. 



BARTON. 



Beautiful are you in your lowliness; 



Bright in your hues, delicious in your scent; 



Lovely your modest blossoms, downward bent, 

 As shrinking from our gaze, yet prompt to bless 

 The passer-by with fragrance, and express 



How gracefully, though mutely eloquent, 



Are unobtrusive worth, and meek content, 

 Rejoicing in their own obscure recess. 



Delightful flowerets ! at the voice of Spring 



Your buds unfolded to its sunbeams bright ; 



And though your blossoms soon shall fade from sight, 

 Above your lowly birth-place birds shall sing. 

 And from your clust'ring leaves the glow-worm fling 



The emerald glory of its earth-born light. 



The same. — smith. 



Sweet Violets ! from your humble beds 



Among the moss, beneath the thorn, 



You rear your unprotected heads. 



And brave the cold and cheerless morn 



Of early March ; not yet are past 



The wintry clf)ud, the sullen blast, 



Which, when your fragrant buds shall blow, 



May lay those purple beauties low. 



Ah ! stay awhile, till warmer showers, 



And brighter suns, shall cheer the day ! 



