VIOLET. 
123 
You stood like dauntless Virtue pure, 
You did the pitiless storm endure. 
And now from harm I’ll you secure. 
Sweet Violet! 
Within myjessamine parterre, 
’Mid myrtles sweet, and lilies fair, 
You now may live, and blossom there, 
Sweet Violet! 
VIOLETS.—A SONNET. 
BARTON. 
Beautieul are you in your lowliness ; 
Bright in your hues, delicious in your scent ; 
Lovely your modest blossoms downward 
bent, 
As shrinking from our gaze, yet prompt to bless 
The passer-by with fragrance, and express 
How gracefully, though mutely eloquent. 
Are unobtrusive worth, and meek content. 
Rejoicing in their own obscure recess. 
Delightful flowerets! at the voice of Spring, 
Your buds unfolded to its sunbeams bright ; 
And though your blossoms soon shall fade 
from sight. 
Above your lowly birth-place birds shall sing. 
