82 
VIOLET. 
The lark, companion of the fields, with thee, 
And sings unto the clouds his songs of glee! 
Perchance his skyward dreams are of the fiow’rs 
Which gather round him in June’s radiant hours; 
When thou, fair comer of the spring, hast shed 
Thy perfumed breath abroad, and droop’d upon thy 
bed. 
The same. — anon. 
Sweet, lovely harbinger of Spring, 
Earliest gift in Flora’s ring, 
Thy scent exhales on Zephyr’s wing, 
Sweet Violet! 
I found you in the lone vale bare, 
In purest hue, sweet flow’ret rare, 
And you shall have my dearest care, 
Sweet Violet! 
You stood like dauntless Virtue pure, 
You did the pitiless storm endure, 
And now from harm I’ll you secure, 
Sweet Violet! 
Within my jessamine parterre, 
’Mid myrtles sweet, and lilies fair, 
You now may live, and blossom there, 
Sweet Violet! 
