50 
SNOW-DROP. 
deserted dwelling, a family gone, a hearth that smokes 
no more.” 
Already now the snow-drop dares appear, 
The first pale blossom of th’ unripen’d year: 
As Flora’s breath, by some transforming power, 
Had changed an icicle into a flower. 
Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, 
And winter lingers in its icy veins. 
BARBAULD. 
Oh! sweetly beautiful it is to mark 
The virgin, vernal snow-drop! lifting up — 
Meek as a nun — the whiteness of its cup, 
From earth’s dead bosom, desolate and dark. 
ANON. 
First in bright Flora’s train Galantha glows, 
And prints with frolic step the melting snows: 
Chides with her dulcet voice the tardy spring, 
Bids slumbering Zephyr stretch his folded wing, 
Wakes the hoarse cuckoo in his gloomy cave, 
And calls the wandering dormouse from his grave, 
Bids the mute redbreast cheer the budding grove, 
And plaintive ringdove tune her notes to love. 
DARWIN. 
