The Violet

Serene is the morning, the lark leaves his nest, And sings a salute to the dawn; The sun with his splendor embroiders the east, And brightens the dew on the lawn: Whilst the sons of debauch to indulgence give way, And slumbers the prime of the hours; Let Eve's blooming daughters the garden survey, And make their remarks on the flowers.

The gay gaudy tulip observe as ye walk, How flaunting the gloss of its vest! How proud! and how stately it stands on its stalk, In beauty's diversity drest: From the rose, the carnation, the pink, and the clove, What odours incessantly spring! The south wafts a richer perfume to the grove, As he brushes the leaves with his wing.

A part from the rest, in her purple array, The violet humbly retreats; In modest concealment she peeps on the day, Yet none can excel her in sweets: So humble, that (tho with unparalelled grace She might e'en a palace adorn) She oft in the hedge hides her innocent face, And grows at the foot of the thorn.

So beauty, ye fair ones, its doubly refined, When modesty heightens its charms; When meekness divine adds a gem to the mind, The heart of the suitor it warms. Let none talk of Venus, and all her proud train, (The graces that wait at her call;) 'Tis meekness alone, which the conquest will gain; This violet surpasses them all.