THE SNOW-DROP. 
SMITH. 
Like pendent flakes of vegetating snow, 
The early herald of the infant year, 
Ere yet the adventurous crocus dares to blow, 
Beneath the orchard boughs thy buds appear. 
While still the cold north-east ungenial lowers, 
And scarce the hazel in the leafless copse 
Or sallows show their downy powder’d flowers, 
The grass is spangled with thy silver drops. 
Yet when those pallid blossoms shall give place 
To countless tribes of richer hue and scent,— 
Summer’s gay blooms, and Autumn’s yellow race, 
I shall thy pale inodorous bells lament. 
So journeying onward in life’s varying track, 
E’en while warm youth its bright illusion lends, 
Fond memory often with regret looks back 
To childhood’s pleasure and to infant friends. 
The same. —langhorne. 
Poets still, in graceful numbers, 
May the glowing roses choose; 
But the Snow-drop’s simple beauty 
Better suits an humble Muse. 
5* 
