40 FLORAL POESY. 
Never a rose shall grow on that tomb, 
It breathes too much of hope and bloom ; 
But there be that flower’s meek regret, 
The bending and deep blue violet.”—L. E. L. 
Whilst the first Napoleon was in exile, this little 
blossom was adopted by his followers as an emblem ; he 
was styled Pere la Violette, and a small bunch of violets 
hung up in the house, or worn by a Frenchman, de¬ 
noted the adherence of the wearer to his fallen chief¬ 
tain’s cause. It is still the emblem of the Bonapartes. 
The White Violet, which is not invariably scentless, 
as is sometimes erroneously presumed, is emblematic of 
candor, although some authors adopt it as the repre¬ 
sentative of innocence . 
TO A FADING VIOLET. 
SHELLEY. 
The color from the flower is gone, 
Which like thy sweet eyes smiled on me; 
The odor from the flower is flown, 
Which breathed of thee, and only thee ! 
A withered, lifeless, vacant form, 
It lies on my abandoned breast, 
And mocks the heart which yet is warm, 
With cold and silent rest. 
I weep—my tears revive it not; 
I sigh—it breathes no more on me ; 
Its mute and uncomplaining lot 
Is such as mine should be. 
