VIOLET. 
86 
So they who climb to wealth forget 
The friends in darker fortunes tried: 
I copied them — but I regret 
That I should ape the ways of pride. 
And when again the genial hour 
Awakes the painted tribes of Ugh., 
I ’ll not o’erlook the modest flower 
That made the woods of April bright. 
TO A WHITE VIOLET. 
H. I. JOHNS. 
Coy inmate of the lowly shade, 
’Mid clustering leaves embosom’d deep, 
Why thus, in modest garb array’d, 
Hid’st thou beneath the hedge-row’s steep? 
While gaudier flowers that woo the sun, 
In all the pride of colour glow, 
Thy odoriferous breath alone, ^ 
Reveals the gem that lurks below. 
So modest worth in humble guise, 
Retiring, shuns the gazing eye; 
While round the hallow’d spot arise 
A thousand sweets that never die * 
