38
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
She her casket show'd, where shone
Precious ore and Indian stone.
"Oh! if gold could win his heart,
I would from the search depart;
All my offering must be
True and spotless constancy."
Then to the other shape she turn'd,
Whose check with crimson blushes burn'd
But to think love could be sold
For a heartless gift of gold.
From her lily-braided hair
Took the spirit bud as fair
As if to summer suns unknown,
Gave it the maiden, and was gone.
Then Mirzala stood by a portal barr'd
Where held the Lion King his guard;
