On a Faded Violet: A Poem

672 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

bestow upon him, whom the king, the legislature, and the nation would have alike delighted to honor; whom every tongue would have blessed; whose presence in every village through which he might have passed would have wakened the church bells, have given school boys a holiday, have drawn children from their sports to gaze upon him, and "old men from the chimney corner," to look upon Nelson ere they died. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson's surpassing genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victory that ever was achieved upon the seas; and the destruction of this mighty fleet, by which all the maritime schemes of France were totally frustrated hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; for, while Nelson was living to watch the combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now when they were no longer in existence.

ON A FADED VIOLET.

The odor from the flower is gone, Which like thy kisses breathed on me; The color from the flower is flown Which glowed of thee, and only thee.

A shriveled, lifeless, vacant form, It lies on my abandoned breast,

And mocks the heart which yet is warm, With cold and silent rest.

I weep —my tears revive it not!

I sigh — breaths no more on me! it

Its mute and uncomplaining lot

Is such as mine should be.

Shelley.