SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. nang 
dé 
VIOLETS. 
We are Violets blue, 
For our sweetness found 
Careless in the mossy shades, 
Looking on the ground. 
Love’s dropp’d eyelids and a kiss, — 
Such our breath and blueness is. 
To, the mild shape 
Hidden by Jove’s fears, 
Found us first i’ the sward, when she 
For hunger stoop’d in tears. 
‘“Wheresoe’er her lip she sets,” 
Jove said, ‘‘be breaths call’d Violets.” 
SWEET-BRIER. 
Wild-rose, Sweet-brier, Eglantine, 
All these pretty names are mine, 
And scent in every leaf is mine, 
And a leaf for all is mine, 
And the scent—oh, that’s divine ! 
Happy sweet and pungent-fine, 
Pure as dew, and picked as wine. 
As the Rose in gardens dress’d, 
Is the lady self-possess’d ; 
I’m the lass in simple vest, 
The country lass whose blood’s the best; 






















