110 DROPS FROM FLORA’S CDF. 
On Seeing a Tult of Snowdrops in a 
Storm. 
WORDSWORTH. 
When haughty expectations prostrate lie, 
And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing, 
Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring 
Mature release, in fair society 
Survive, and fortune’s utmost anger try; 
Like these frail snowdrops, that together cling, 
And nod their helmets smitten by the wing 
Of many a furious whirlblast sweeping by. 
Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great 
May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to 
stand 
The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate; 
And so the bright immortal Theban band, 
Whom unset, fiercely urged at Jove’s command, 
Might overwhelm but could not separate. 
Already now the snowdrop dares appear, 
The first pale blossom of th’ unripened year; 
At Flora’s breath, by some transforming power, 
Had changed an icicle into a flower. 
Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, 
And winter lingers in its icy veins. 
Barbahld. 
