Will not the violet’s dusky purple glow,
When it hath ne’er been press’d to broken hearts,
A record of lost love?
Mother. My Lilian! thou
Surely in thy bright life hast little known
Of lost things or of changed!
Lilian. Oh! little yet,
For thou hast been my shield! But had it been
My lot on this world’s billows to be thrown
Without thy love, O mother! there are hearts