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The Lilac, prompt to heed the call of Spring, Shuns not the summons to our magic ring; We saw it o'er the way-side traveller cast Shade from the heat, and covert from the blast, Yet from the meed of fame retire, to throw Its wealth of fragrance on the vale below.

And shall the verdant Myrtle be forgot, All unassuming in its shaded spot? Perchance we may not win its wreathing vine From Coke and Blackstone, where it fain would twine. Yet might it be persuaded thus to cheer The glowing circle, it were welcome here.

The varied Tulip, versatile and gay, With colors changing to the changing ray, Attracts the stranger by its brilliant dye, And with rich tissue charms the studious eye, Yet better loves in southern climes to bide, Than hear the accents of our praise or pride.

Now bind the treasur'd sweetness. Do you say That aught is wanting? There are none away. A plant there is, indeed, from mountains lone, But blossom, flower, or fragrance, it hath none;