PRIMROSE. 
77 
In this low vale, the promise of the year, 
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, 
Unnoticed and alone, 
• Thy tender elegance. 
So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms 
Of chill adversity ; in some lone walk 
Of life she rears her head, 
Obscure and unobserved;— 
While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, 
Chastens her spotless purity of breast, 
And hardens her to bear 
Serene, the ills of life. 
PRIMROSES. 
KEATS. 
A tuft of evening primroses, 
O’er which the mind may hover till it dozes ; 
O’er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, 
But that ’tis ever startled by the leap 
Of buds into ripe flowers. 
SAD PRIMROSES. 
PROFESSOR WILSON. 
But we have daisies, which, like love 
Or hope, spring everywhere ; 
And primroses, which droop above 
Some self-consuming care. 
