64 



THE AMERICAN BOTANIST. 



to whom every weed was dear, has not failed to mention 

 the^violet : 



''A violet by a mossy stone, 

 Half hidden from the eye, 



Fair as a star when only one 

 Is shining in the sky." 



Tennyson, a true poet of nature, speaks of the 'Violet 

 of his native land," and again : 



"In my heart 



Spring wakens, too ; and my regret 

 Becomes an April violet." 



Of course the exquisite stanza in Maud is recalled in this 



connection : 



''Whenever a March wind sighs 

 He sets the jeweled print of your feet, 

 In violets blue as your eyes." 



Our own American writers have not neglected the 

 flower of the wayside. Bryant's line on the yellow violet 

 have been referred to. Story sings : 



"O, faint, delicious Spring-time violet. 



Thine odor, like a key. 

 Turns noiselessly in memory's wards, to let 



A thought of sorrow free." 



Hawthorne speaks in his American Notes of a "gush 

 violets along a wood-path." This line is a poem in itself, 

 full of subtle suggestion. It refers to the "bird-foot" vio- 

 lets, which are scattered so bountifully along the sandy 

 ways. 



When we think how beautiful these flowers are, we 

 cannot wonder that they are loved by old and young. Is 

 any discovery made in life so enjoyable as that of the first 

 spring violet ? It affects us like a blessing. The memories 

 of childhood cluster about it, and we even feel that it may 

 embody the spirit of the loved and lost. 



In the meadow the deep, purple violets appear, and 

 where the grass is wet, up peep the tiny white ones in 

 pretty spring bonnets streaked with blue. The violets 

 and the "innocents" are on excellent terms and often 

 grow on the same moist and sunny bank. Near them the 



