270 THE CAPTIVE AND. THE FLOWERS. 



And bears thy bosom faithfully, 

 And art thou true, and pure as I, 

 Thou'lt prize the lily more. 



I call myself both chaste and pure, 



And pure from passions low ; 

 And yet these walls my limbs immure 



In loneliness and woe. 

 Though thou dost seem, in white array'd, 

 Like many a pure and beauteous maid, 



One dearer thing I know. 



PINK. 



Ard dearer I. the pink, must be, 

 And me thou sure dost choose 



O else the gard'ner ne'er for me 

 Such watchful care would use ; 



A crowd of leaves enriching bloom ! 



And mine through life the sweet perfume, 

 And all the thousand hues. 



