56 
SNOW-DROP. 
Chilling winds, and blasts ungenial. 
Rudely threat’ning round thy head. 
Silv’ry bud, thy pensile foliage 
Seems the 'angry blasts to fear ; 
Yet secure, thy tender texture 
Ornaments the rising year. 
No warm tints, or vivid col’ring. 
Paint thy bells with gaudy pride ; 
Mildly charm’d, we seek thy fragrance. 
Where no thorns insidious hide. 
’Tis not thine, with flaunting beauty 
To attract the roving sight; 
Nature, from her varied wardrobe, 
Chose thy vest of purest white. 
White, as falls the fleecy shower, 
Thy soft form in sweetness grows ; 
Not more fair the valley’s treasure, 
Not more sweet her lily blows. 
Drooping harbinger of flora, 
Simply are thy blossoms drest; 
Artless as the gentle virtues, 
Mansion’d in the blameless breast. 
When to pure and timid virtue 
Friendship twines a votive wreath, 
O’er the fair selected garden 
Thou thy perfume soft shall breathe. 
