LILIES. 
97 
Yet do I love that modest flower 
Which blossoms in the humble shade, 
And asks not for the sun’s bright power, 
By which this splendid plant’s array’d. 
SONG OF THE LILY. 
ANON. 
Let others boast, in their golden pride, 
Of graceful form, or roseate bloom — 
Yet the Lily is fairer than all beside, 
That glow in their beauty, or breathe in perfume. 
What, though the bright Rose in her glory essay 
To adorn with her blushes the cheek of the fair! 
Yet no envied trophy can she bear away, 
For the Lily is ever her partner there.— 
No triumph I fear from such rivals as these, 
While gaily I wave my white bells to the breeze. 
If the emblem of innocence homage commands, 
Then what greater claim can the Lily desire? 
For who will deny it — while radiant she stands, 
Like the bright form of beauty, in bridal attire? 
But I seek not the triumph of beauty alone — 
Though the Rose may be foster’d ’neath Britain’s proud 
glance, 
I shall still be her rival in glory’s bright throne; 
For who shall dare challenge the Lily of France? 
While I can exult in such honours as these, 
How proudly I ’ll wave my white bells in the breeze! 
