CAPTIVE.

Thy crimson bud I duly prize

In outer robe of green;

For this thou'rt dear in maiden's eyes,
As gold and jewels sheen.
Thy wreath adorns the fairest brow,
And yet the flower-it is not thou,
Whom my still wishes mean.

LILY.

The little rose has cause for pride,
And upwards aye will soar;
Yet am I held by many a bride
The rose's wreath before.
And beats thy bosom faithfully,
And art thou true, and pure as I,
Thou'lt prize the lily more.

CAPTIVE.

I call myself both chaste and pure,
And pure from passions low;
And yet these walls my limbs immure

In loneliness and woe.

Though thou dost seem, in white array'd,

Like many a pure and beauteous maid,
One dearer thing I know.

PINK.

And dearer I, the pink, must be,
And me thou sure dost choose,
Or else the gard' ner ne'er for me
Such watchful care would use;

A crowd of leaves enriching bloom!

And mine through life the sweet perfume, And all the thousand hues.

CAPTIVE.

The pink can no one justly slight,
The gard'ner's favourite flower;
He sets it now beneath the light,
Now shields it from its power.

Yet 'tis not pomp, who o'er the rest
In splendour shines, can make me blest;
It is a still, small flower.

VIOLET.

I stand conceal'd, and bending low,

And do not love to speak;
Yet will I, as 'tis fitting now,

My wonted silence break.
For if 'tis I, thou gallant man,
Thy heart desires, thine, if I can,
My perfumes all I'll make.

CAPTIVE.

The violet I esteem indeed,

So modest and so kind;

Its fragrance sweet yet more I need,

To soothe mine anguish'd mind. To you the truth will I confess; Here, 'mid this rocky dreariness, My love I ne'er shall find.

T

The truest wife by yonder brook

Will roam the mournful day, And hither cast the anxious look, Long as immured I stay.

Whene'er she breaks a small blue flower,
And says, "Forget me not!" the power
I feel, though far away.

Yes, e'en though far, I feel its might,
For true love joins us twain,

And therefore 'mid the dungeon's night
I still in life remain.

And sinks my heart at my hard lot,

I but exclaim, "Forget me not!"
And straight new life regain.

FRAGMENT.

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

AND Well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall-flower grew,
And honeysuckle loved to crawl
Up the low crag and ruin'd wall.

I deem'd such nooks the sweetest shade
The sun in all his round survey'd,
And still I thought that shatter'd tower
The mightiest work of human power.

THE VIOLET.*

3Y G. J. CLARKE.

WHEN April's warmth unlocks the clod,
Soften'd by gentle showers,

The violet pierces through the sod,
And blossoms, first of flowers;
So may I give my heart to GOD
In childhood's early hours.

Some plants, in gardens only found,
Are raised with pains and care:
GOD scatters violets all around,
They blossom every where ;

Thus may my love to all abound,

And all my fragrance share.

Some scentless flowers stand straight and high,

With pride and haughtiness:

But violets perfume land and sky,
Although they promise less.

Let me, with all humility,

Do more than I profess.

*Written for a little girl to speak on May-day, in the character of the Violet.

Sweet flower, be thou a type to me
Of blameless joy and mirth,
Of widely-scatter'd sympathy,
Embracing all GoD's earth-
Of early-blooming piety,
And unpretending worth.

I SEND THE LILIES GIVEN TO ME.

BY BYRON.

I SEND the lilies given to me;

Though, long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must wither'd be ; But yet reject them not as such : For I have cherish'd them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold'st them drooping nigh, And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine, And offer'd from my heart to thine!

The river nobly foams and flows,

The charm of this enchanted ground,

And all its thousand turns disclose
Some fresher beauty varying round;