LOVE-IN-IDLENESS. IN gardens oft a beauteous flower there grows, In sweet security it humbly blows, And rears its purple head to deck the green. This flower, as Nature's poet sweetly sings, Was once milk-white, and Heart's-case was its name, Till wanton Cupid poised its roseate wings, A vestal's sacred bosom to inflame. With treacherous aim the god his arrow drew, Heart's-ease no more the wandering shepherds found; MRS. BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. THE ALPINE VIOLET. THE spring is come, the Violet's gone, The snow on the hills cannot blast her bower; But when the spring comes with her host Pluck the others, but still remember The morning star of all the flowers, The virgin, virgin Violet. BYRON. LE VIOLE, BELLE, fresche, e purpure Viole, O il ciel che ha tanto ben degnar ne vuole? LORENZO DE MEDICI. THE VIOLET AND THE PANSY. FAR from his hive, one summer's day, The morn, the noon, in play he passed; No parent brought the due repast, And faintness seized his little frame. By nature urged, by instinct led, Where streams mourned round a mossy bed, Of kindred race, but brighter dyes, The tints that streamed with glossy gold, In vain he seeks some virtues there, No honeyed sweetness to repair The languid waste of life is found. An aged bee, whose labours led To these fair springs and meads of gold, His feeble wing, his drooping head Beheld, and pitied to behold. "Fly, fond adventurer! fly the art That courts thine eye with fond attire ; Who smiles to win the heedless heart, Will smile to see that heart expire. "This modest flower, of humble view, "This flower with balmy sweetness blest, He said, and to the Violet's breast LANGHORNE. THE VIOLET. THE Violet in her greenwood bower, May boast herself the fairest flower, 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, SIR. W. SCOTT. |