THE POETRY OF FLOWERS. 191 
Why did the gods 

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That be: auty hath, t to 6 beer too deep a 
Of her own self-conceived excellence. 
Oh hadst thou known the worth of Heaven’s rich | 
gift, 
Thou wouldst have turn’d it to a truer use, 
And not (with starved and covetous ignorance) 
Pined in continual eyeing that bright gem, 
The glance whereof to others had been more || 
Than to thy famish’d mind the wide world’s store, 
— 

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BY SCOTT. 
‘* For me,’’—she stoop’d, and looking rouna, 
Pluck’d a blue harebell from the ground,—- 
‘For me, whose memory scarce conveys 
An image of more splendid — 
This little flower, that lo 
May well my simple ee be; 
It ge heaven’s dew, oe as ne Trost || 
in the king’s own garde 
when I place it in my hair, 
, a bard 




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CL SC iit. 

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