THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 



BY GEORGE CROLY. 



White hud, in meek heauty so dost lean 



Thy cloister'd cheek as pale as moonlight snow, 



Thou seem'st beneath thy huge, high leaf of green, 

 An Eremite beneath his mountain's brow. 



White bud ! thou'rt emblem of a lovelier thing, 

 The broken spirit that its anguish bears 



To silent shades, and there sits offering 

 To Heaven the holy fragrance of its tears. 



