




ou’rt dear in maiden’s eyes 
Thy wreath adorns the faire t brow, 
And yet the flower—it is xe thou, 
Whom my still wishes mean. 
LILY 
The little rose has cause for pride, 
And upwards aye will soar; 
Yet am I held by many a bride 
The rese’s wreath before. 
nd beats thy bosom faithfull ly, 
nd art thou true, and pure as I, 
‘hou’lt prize the lily more 
A 
Ar 
CAPTIVE. 
te and pure, 
from passions low ; 
walls my limbs immure 
and woe. 
Though thou a dat seem, in white array ¢ 
Like many a pure and beauteous maid, 
One dearer thing I know. 
PINK, 
e pink, must be, 
ane e€ dost 

