SNOW-DHOP. 
59 
Thy parent’s eye hath shed 
A precious dew-drop on thine head. 
Trail as a mother’s tear 
Upon her infant’s face, 
W hen ardent hope to tender fear, 
And anxious love, gives place. 
But lo ! the dew-drop flits away, 
The sun salutes thee with a ray 
Warm as a mother’s kiss 
Upon her infant’s cheek. 
When the heart hounds with bliss. 
And joy that cannot speak! 
—When I meet thee by the way, 
Like a pretty, sportive child, 
On the winter-wasted wild, 
W ith thy darling breeze at play. 
Opening to the radiant sky 
All the sweetness of thine eye ; 
— Or bright with sun-beams, fresh with 
showers, 
O thou Fairy-Queen of flowers ! 
Watch thee o’er the plain advance 
At the head of Flora’s dance ; 
Simple SNOW’-DROP ! then in thee 
All thy sister-train I see: 
Every brilliant bud that blows. 
From the blue-bell to the rose; 
All the beauties that appear 
