THE ALPINE VIOLET. 115 
All are lovely, all blossom of heart and of 
mind; 
All true to their natures, as Nature design’d; 
To cheer and to solace, to strengthen, caress, 
And with love that can die not to buoy and 
to bless. 
With gentleness, might, and with weakness, 
what grace! 
Revelations from Heaven in form and on 
face ; 
Like the how in the cloud, like the flower 
on the sod. 
They ascend and descend in my dreams as 
from God. 
—Howitt. 
THE ALPINE VIOLET. 
The Spring is come, the violet’s gone. 
The first-born child of the early sun ; 
With us she is but a winter flower, 
The snow on the hills cannot blast her 
bower ; 
And she lifts up her dewy eye of blue, 
To the youngest' sky of the self-same hue. 
