" So they who climb to wealth forget 

 The friends in darker fortunes tried. 

 I copied them, but I regret 

 That I should ape the ways of pride. 



" And when again the genial hour 

 Awakes the painted tribes of light, 

 I '11 not o'erlook the modest flower 

 That made the woods of April bright." 



No flower has invaded European 

 literature like the violet, and many 

 English poets have extolled its beauty 

 and modesty in rondeau and triolet, 

 ballad and sonnet. 



There were one or two, however, 

 who dared to lift up their voices in 

 her dispraise, and among them was 

 that doughty knight, Sir Henry Wot- 

 ton, who so admired Elizabeth of Bo- 

 hemia, and wrote thus in her honour 

 in 1620 or a year or two later : — 



" You meaner beauties of the night, 

 That poorly satisfie our eies 

 More by your number than your light ; 

 You common people of the skies, 

 What are you when the moon shall rise ? 



55 



