THE VIOLET OF THE VALLEY. 
31 
conjured up a porch twined over with Moss-roses, 
unconscious that the threshold over which her 
beauty passed was wreathed with the same queenly 
flowers. In their sleep they sighed over perfumed 
beds of Pinks, not knowing that her own garden 
was covered with them ; and they built up an ima¬ 
ginary abode for Love to dwell in, before the winged 
god had either alighted upon, or visited the spot. 
Many a sigh was sent over the hills which over¬ 
looked that little cottage, and many a prayer wafted 
towards the happy valley in which she dwelt; but 
the bees murmured round her home, the butterflies 
sat swinging upon her flowers, morning and evening 
the birds swelled their anthems upon the breeze, 
and all night long the brook went singing to itself 
beneath her window, and, excepting an affection for 
all these sweet sights and sounds, and a heart at 
peace with all mankind, she was as yet untouched 
by Love. 
But Love at length came, timid as he ever 
cometli: concealing himself at first behind the trees, 
or screened by the surrounding bushes, as if all he 
coveted was to listen to the music of her voice. 
When he appeared, she vanished, when he retreated, 
she was again in her accustomed place. It was as 
if the sunshine was sporting with the beautiful 
shadow, and both vanished at the same moment of 
time,—as if Love and Modesty were ashamed of 
