The VIOLET TRANSPLANTED

Where fragrant field-flow’rs, gaily spread, Drink deep the morning dew; Close by a murm’ring riv’let’s side An humble Vi’let grew.

To her the cultur’d spot unknown, She bloom’d in her retreat; And there in native fragrance bless’d, Dispers’d a world of sweet.

But yet not undisturb’d her lot By Providence was cast; For oft’ the herds went grazing forth And laid the meadow waste.

And oft’ the trav’ler’s careless step Had laid her on the plain; Yet, by the living streamlet fed, She soon reviv’d again.

At length a curious Florist saw The sweetly blooming flow’r; Call’d her the field’s and garden’s pride, And plac’d her in his bow’r.

Here, with a thousand beauties rang’d, Her elegance was lost; No more the cultur’d spot she grac’d; No more fair FLORA’S boast.

Abandon’d by his hand, who first Her charms with pleasure view’d; She in her rise beheld her fate, And now neglected stood.

She droop’d, she pin’d; the richer soil No nurture could afford; And oft’ in vain her humbler lot The fading flow’r deplor’d.

The happier tribes that flourish’d round Did each her state deride; Rejoicing that she paid so dear For what they deem’d her pride.

The Sun in Cancer flam’d aloft Dry thirst her moisture drank; In vain she wish’d the lucent flood, Or shade of osiers dank.

Oppress’d at length she drooping fell, As ready to expire; Her bosom unresisting spread To Sol’s consuming fire.

When lo! from heav’n a gentle rain Cool’d that too fervid ray; And soon reviv’d the beauteous flow’r, Which glow’d upon the day.

Her bloom restor’d, renew’d again; Her former lord attends; And midst the fairest of the fair She numbers now her friends.

Yet, deeply struck with former ills, An humble flow’r she blooms; No pride that lovely bosom knows, Whence ZEPHYR steals perfumes;

And to the Fair this useful truth She evermore reveals; That she best knows her Beauty’s force, Who modestly conceals.