TO A SNOW-DROP. BY LANGHORNE. POETS still, in graceful numbers, Earliest bud that decks the garden, Though no warm or murmuring zephyr Fan thy leaves with balmy wing, Pleased we hail thee, spotless blossom, Herald of the infant spring. Through the cold and cheerless season Soft thy tender form expands, Safe in unaspiring graces, Foremost of the blooming bands. White-robed flower, in lonely beauty, Silv'ry bud, thy pensile foliage No warm tints, or vivid colouring, 'Tis not thine, with flaunting beauty, White as falls the fleecy shower, Drooping harbinger of Flora, Simply are thy blossoms drest; Artless as the gentle virtues Mansion'd in the blameless breast. When to pure and timid virtue Friendship twines a votive wreath, O'er the fair selected garland Thou thy perfume soft shalt breathe. TO THE PASSION-FLOWER. BY BERNARD BARTON. IF Superstition's baneful art But if, in fancy's pensive hour, By grateful feelings stirr'd, Her fond imaginative power That name at first conferr'd Though lightly truth her flights may prize, By wild vagary driven, For once their blameless exercise May surely be forgiven. We roam the seas-give new-found isles We soar to heaven; and to outlive Then may not one poor floweret's bloom Of Him, who, to avert our doom, God dwelleth not in temples rear'd And may not e'en a simple flower Then freely let thy blossom ope A scene which bids the humble hope THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. BY BISHOP MANT. FAIR flower, that, lapt in lowly glade, None fairer wakes, on bank, or spray, Our lily of the vale! Art thou that "Lily of the field," Which, when the Saviour sought to shield The heart from blank despair, He show'd to our mistrustful kind, Not this, I trow; for brighter shiro Those children of the East: More frequent than the host of night, |