LILY OF T1IE VALLEY. 
93 
“ Cease, restless gale !” it seems to say, 
“Nor wake me with thy sighing ! 
The hours of my vernal clay 
On rapid wings are flying. 
“ To-morrow shall the traveller come 
Who late beheld me blooming; 
His searching eye shall vainly roam 
The dreary vale of Lumin.” 
LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
There is a pale and modest flower, 
In garb of green arrayed, 
That decks the rustic maiden’s bower, 
And blossoms in the glade. 
Though other flowers around me bloom, 
In gaudy splendour drest, 
Filling the air with rich perfume, 
I love the lily best. 
I see the tulip’s gorgeous hue, 
And sunflower’s crown of gold; 
I see the rose and woodbine,, too, 
Their scented leaves unfold : 
Though they adorn the gay parterre, 
I love them not as well 
As the drooping lily, frail and tair, 
That grows in shady deli. 
