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SNOWDROP. 
HOPE. 
TuoveH the Snowdrop cannot perhaps, strictly 
speaking, be called one of the flowers of spring, 
still, as the herald of that season, we may be 
excused for placing it at the head of them. 
Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace, 
Throws out the Snowdrop and the Crocus first. 
THOMSON. 
As 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 chains. 
BaRBAULD, 
The Snowdrop, Winter’s timid child, 
Awakes to life, bedewed with tears, 
And flings around its fragrance mild ; 
And, where no rival flow’rets bloom 
Amidst the bare and chilling gloom, 
A beauteous gem appears. 
All weak and wan, with head inclined, 
Its parent breast the drifted snow, 
It trembles, while the ruthless wind 
Bends its slim form; the tempest lowers, 
Its emerald eye drops crystal showers 
On its cold bed below. 
