THE CAPTIVE AND THE TLOWEBB. 271 



The pink can no one justly slight, 

 The gard'ner's favorite flower; 



He sets it now beneath the light, 

 Now shields it from its power. 



Yet 'tis not pomp, who o'er the rest 



In splendor shines, can make me blest ; 

 It is a still, small flower. 



I stand conceal'd, and bending low, 

 And do not love to speak ; 



Yet will I, as 'tis fitting now, 

 My wonted silence break. 



For if 'tis I, thou gallant man, 



Thy heart desires, thine, if I can, 

 My perfumes all I'll make. 



The violet 1 esteem indeed, 

 So modest and so kind ; 



