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"Nor thee, the vagrants of the field,
"When love has fill'd his heart with cares, "For flowers he rifles all the meads,
"For waking flowers-but thine forbears.
"Ah! wafte no more that beauteous bloom "On night's chill fhade, that fragrant breath, "Let fmiling funs thofe gems illume!
"Fair flower, to live unfeen is death !”
Soft as the voice of vernal gales,
That o'er the bending meadows blow, Or ftreams that fteál through even vales, And murmur that they move fo flow:
Deep in her unfrequented bower,
Sweet Philomela pour'd her ftrain;
The bird of eve approv'd her flower,
By moon-light shades, in vallies green,
But I love the modeft m en,
Still I love the modeft mien
Of gentle Ev'ning fair, and her star-train'd queea,
Didst thou, Shepherd never find,
Pleasure is of penfive kind?
Has thy cottage never known,
While, all difarm'd, the cares of day
Far from the world's infectious view,
Go, and in day's more dangerous hour
From the Fables of Flora.
WHY loves my flower, the sweetest flower,
"That fwells the golden breast of May,
Thrown rudely o'er yon ruin'd tower "To wafte her folitary day?
"Why, when the mead, the fpicy vale,
"The grove and genial garden call,
"Will the her fragrant foul exhale,
"For never fure was beauty born
Thus Pity wak'd the tender thought,
"From thee be far th' ungentle deed,
"The honours of the dead to spoil,
"Or take the fole remaining meed,
"The flower that crowns their former toil!
"Nor deem that flower the garden's foe, "Or fond to grace this barren fhade; Tis Nature tells her to bestow
"Her honours on the lonely dead.
"For this, obedient Zephyrs bear
"Her light feeds round yon turret's mould, "And undifpers'd by tempefts there,
"They rife in vegetable gold.
"Nor fhall thy wonder wake to fee
"Such defert fcenes diftinction crave;
"Oft have they been, and oft fhall be,
"Truth's, Honour's Valour's, Beauty's grave.
"Where longs to fall that rifted fpire,
When that too shakes the trembling ground,
"And many a lumbering cottage round
"Of them who wrapt in earth fo cold,
"No more the finiling day fhall view, "Should many a tender tale be told;
"For many a tender thought is due.
"Haft thou not seen some lover pale,
"And stop to pluck the frequent flower?
"Though there, as fond remembrance grew,
Forgotten, from his hand they fell.
"Has not for thee the fragrant thorn
"Why, elfe, the o'er-grown paths of time,
"Why feeks he with unwearied toil,
"Through Death's dim walks to urge his way,
"Reclaim his long-afferted spoil
"And lead Oblivion into day?
"'Tis Nature prompts, by toil or fear
"Unmov'd, to range through Death's domain: "The tender parent loves to hear
"Her children's story told again.
"Treat not with scorn his thoughtful hours,
HAIL, queen of thought fublime! propitious pow's!
Who o'er th' unbounded waste art joy'd to roam,
O bear me, goddefs, to thy peaceful feat!
Say, rove thy fteps o'er Lybia's naked waste?
Or, on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd,
Fix'd on fome hanging rock's projected brow,
Pours her long wail from fome lamented tomb >