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1 I 





99 Ah! rather perish that destructive Grace!" 

 And straight with dusky blue she stain'd her face. 

 Discoloured thus, an humbler state she prov'd, 

 Not now so fair, yet still by Delia lov'd. 

 Changed to a Violet, with this praise she meets, 

 Persisting chaste, she keeps her former sweets. 



Rapine. 



Another species of Violet, the tricolor, has the markings, like the Greek name of the 

 renowned warrior Ajax; hence the origin to the poetic fancy of the metamorphofis of that 

 great Hero to this flower. 



Ajax, being disappointed of the armour of Achilles, decreed to Ulysses, destroys himself. 

 His death is related thus. 



II 



He who could often, and alone, withstand 



The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand, 



Now cannot his unmaster'd grief sustain, 



But yields to rage, to madness, and distain; 



Then snatching out his falchion, V Thou/' said he, 



" Art mine; Ulysses lays no claim to thee. 



" O often tried, and ever trusty sword, 



'* Now do thy last kind office to thy lord : 



'* 'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show 



" None but himself, himself could* overthrow:" 



He said, and with so good a will to die, 



Did to his breast the fatal point apply. 



It found his heart, a way till then unknown, 



Where never weapon entered, but his own. 



No hands could force it thence, so fix'd it stood, 



Till out it rush'd, expell'd by streams of spouting blood. 



The fruitful blood produc'd a Flow'r, which grew 



On a green stem, and of a purple hue: 



Like his, whom unaware Apollo slew: 



Inscribed in both, the letters are the same, 



But those express the grief, and these the name. 



Ovid. 



March 20, the Sow-Bread (Cyclamen), flowers. 



This beautiful Flower is of a delicate white, with a little border of purple about the brim of 

 its pendulous cup. As it ripens its seeds, the peduncle bends towards the ground more and 

 more, until it actually has penetrated into the earth, and deposited her treasures there for the 



■ 



ensuing season. 



The gentle Cyclamen, with dewy eye, 

 Breathes o'er her lifeless babe the parting sigh ; 

 And, bending low to earth, with pious hands, 

 Inhumes her dear departed in the sands. 



