THE VIOLET OF THE VALLEY. 
37 
ter; and knowing that the bright seasons would soon 
return again, there was nothing in the world that she 
coveted. 
Every one can remember some bank on which the 
Violet blows—some green lane or pleasant foot-path 
in which they have been stopped in spring by its fra¬ 
grance. “Sweet Violets,” is one of the earliest cries 
which greet the ear in spring, telling us that they have 
come again, like beautiful children, heralding in the 
approach of summer; they bring joyous tidings of 
brighter days, and the return of singing birds, and the 
whispers of long leaves and pleasant walks, reminding 
us that Nature has awoke from her slumber, and is 
shaking open the unblown buds which have gathered 
around her during her long winter’s sleep. Dear was 
this modest and beautiful flower to the hearts of our 
elder poets, and from its sweetness, buried amid the 
broad green leaves, they drew forth many an exquisite 
image, and in it found the emblems of hidden Virtue, 
and neglected Modesty, and unchanging Love. 
