Violet is for faithfulness,
Which in me shall abide;
Hoping, likewise, that from your heart
You will not let it slide.
The Violet in her greenwood bower,
Where birchen boughs with hazles mingle,
May boast herself the fairest flower,
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle.
Scott.
Under the hedge all safe and warm,
Sheltered from boisterous wind and storm,
We Violets lie:
With each small eye
Closely shut while the cold goes by.
You look at the bank, mid the biting frost,
And you sigh, and say that we’re dead and lost;
But, Lady stay
For a sunny day,
And you’ll find us again, alive and gay.
On mossy banks, under forest trees,
You’ll find us crowding, in days like these;
Purple and blue,
And white ones too,
Peep at the sun, and wait for you.
By maids and matrons, by old and young,
By rich and poor, our praise is sung;
And the blind man sighs
When his sightless eyes
He turns to the spot where our perfumes rise.
There is not a garden, the country through,
Where they plant not Violets, white and blue;
By princely hall,
And cottage small—
For we’re sought, and cherished, and culled by all.
Yet grand parterres and stiff trimmed beds
But ill become our modest heads;
We’d rather run,
In shadow and sun,
O’er the banks where our merry lives first begun.
There, where the Birken bough’s silvery shine
Gleams over the hawthorn and frail woodbine,
Moss, deep and green,
Lies thick, between
The plots where we Violet-flowers are seen.
And the small gay Celandine’s stars of gold
Rise sparkling beside our purple’s fold:—
Such a regal show
Is rare, I trow,
Save on the banks where Violets grow.
Louisa A. Twamley.
I know where bloom some Violets in a bed
Half hidden in the grass; and crowds go by
And see them not, unless some curious eye
Unto their hiding-place by chance is led.
I often pass that way, and look on them,
And love them more and more. I know not why
My heart doth love such humble things; but I
Esteem them more than robe or diadem
Of haughty kings. A babe, or bird, or flower
Hath o’er the soul a most despotic power.
The tearful eye of infancy oppressed—
A flower down-trodden by the foot of spite—
Awaken sighs of sorrow in the breast,
Or nerve the arm to vindicate their right.
Lavender.... Distrust.
It was anciently believed that the asp, a dangerous species of viper, made Lavender its habitual place of abode, for which reason that plant was approached with extreme caution. The Romans used it largely in their baths, from whence its name is derived.