SNOWDROP. 
37 
Where’er I find thee, gentle flower, 
Thou still art sweet and dear to me ! 
For I have known the cheerless hour, 
Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale, 
Have felt the chilling wintry gale, 
And wept and shrunk, like thee! 
Mary Robinson. 
This firstling of the year may not inaptly be 
considered as an emblem of hope. Some have 
regarded it as a symbol of humility, of grati¬ 
tude, and of virgin innocence. 
The north wind howls; the naked branches 
of the trees are powdered with hoar frost; the 
earth is covered by a white, uniform carpet; the 
tuneful birds are silent; the captive rivulet 
ceases to murmur. At this season, when all 
Nature appears dead, a delicate flower springs 
up amidst the snow, displaying to the astonished 
eye its ivory bells, embosoming a small green 
spot, as if marked by the pencil of Hope. In 
expanding its blossoms on the snow, this deli¬ 
cate flower seems to smile at the rigours of 
winter, and to say:—“Take courage; here I 
am to cheer you with the hope of milder wea¬ 
ther !” 
