
sE, 
iend 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
“Yours is,’’ she said, ‘‘ the noblest hue, 
And yours the statelier mien; 
And, till a third surpasses you, 
Let each be deem’d a queen.’ 
Thus soothed and reconciled, both seek 
The fairest British fair ; 
The seat of empire is her cheek, 
They reign united there. 
—_@—— 
THE VIOLET. 
BY SCOTT. 
Tue violet in her greenwood bower, 
Where birchen boughs with hazels mirgle, 
May boast herself the fairest flower, 
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 
Though fair her gems of azure hue, 
Beneath the dew-drop’s weight reclining, 
I’ve seen an eye of lovelier blue, 
More sweet through watery lustre shining. 
The summer sun that dew shall dry, 
Ere yet the day be past its morrow; 
No longer in my false love’s eye 
Remain d the tear of parting sorrow. 




























