Voice of Flowers/Minerva's Prize
MINERVA'S PRIZE
Minerva, a visit to Flora once made,
When the flowers, in a body, their compliments paid,
And, charmed with their manners, and elegant dyes,
Desired she might give to the fairest a prize;
Appointing a day, when herself should preside,
And on their pretensions to beauty decide.
Then the Rose bridled up, with a confident air,
As if she would say,—Who with me shall compare?
While the Lily, but newly come out as a bride,
Whisper'd low to her sisters, and laugh'd at such pride.
The Hyacinth studied her wardrobe with care,
Still puzzled to settle what colors to wear;
The Poppy, ashamed of her dull, sleepy eyes,
Wore a new scarlet dress, with a view to the prize.
Then flock'd the Anemones, fair to behold,
With the rich Polyanthus, in velvet and gold;
And the Tulip came flaunting, and waving her fan,
And turned up her nose at the Daffodil clan.
The buds who were thought by their mothers too young,
Round their sister's toilettes discontentedly hung;
There was teazing, and dressing, and prinking enough—
The pretty Quill-Daisies each bought a new ruff;
The stately Carnations stood frizzing their hair,
And the tall London-pride, choosing feathers to wear.
The Pink at her mirror was ready to drop,
And the Snow-ball bought rouge at a milliner's shop;
While in the same square, at a shoe-store so neat,
The trim Lady-Slippers were pinching their feet.
Thrifty Lilac acknowledg'd her robe was not new,
But with turning and furbishing thought it might do;
While the queer Ragged-Lady, who pass'd for a poet,
Sat darning her hose, and wish'd no one to know it;
And Fox-Glove, who sometimes had furnished a sonnet,
Was tying new bows on a fanciful bonnet.
The green-house exotics, in chariots, went by,
For their delicate nerves feared each frown of the sky,
While from her low cottage of moss on the plain,
The Violet look'd up and admired the bright train,
Not thinking to join in a circle so gay,
Or dreaming that she had a charm to display;
Beside a sick bud she preferred to attend,
Which down to the dust its pule forehead would bend.
But judge how this splendid conventicle stared,
When Minerva the prize to the Violet declar'd!
Remarking, though beauties and graces were there,
That "Modesty ever to her was most fair."
And distinctly pronounced, in the hearing of all,
That "the humble must rise, and the arrogant fall."