How rich is my reward! My gentle Flower,
I fain would never lose thee; but thou 'lt die-
Droop-wither-pass away like all fair things-
Like all I ever loved.

But yet, not lost,

Not lost, my beautiful; thou wilt but hide

Thy quiet loveliness while Summer's sun
Calls forth the courtiers of his glittering train

To revel in their gay and festal 'tire:

When Autumn dims them, and when winter chills,

Thou wilt lay by thy cloak of russet brown,
And spring up bright and beautiful once more.

So, when thy fragrance breathes its faint perfume,
And pallid droop thy petals round the stem,
I will but think thy life one day has spent,
And bid thee sweet sleep till we meet again.

c 2

TO A VIOLET,

GATHERED ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

Sweet violets, Love's paradise, that spread

Your gracious odours, which you couched beare

Within your paly faces,

Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind

That plays amidst the plain;

If, by the favour of propitious stars, you gain
Such grace as in my lady's bosom place to find,
Be proud to touch those places.

On old Hyem's chin and icy crown,
A fragrant chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

SHAKSPEARE.

FAIR child of the Spring,

Loved gem of the year,

Why thy fragrance fling

Amid winter drear?

Each kindred flower hath veiled her head,

E'en the autumn daisy is closed and dead.

Dost come because Summer's bright laughing sky

Can no more with thy sapphire radiance vie?

Nor, when breathing thy scent through the leafless vale,

No roses their rival perfumes exhale?

And com'st thou, loved flower, mine eyes to greet,

Because thou art alone, the fair-the sweet?