Th' unfolding leaf, the soft bud newly burst, 



A second Flora v'leing with the first. 



" These!" she exclaim'd,— '' these flowers should be mine. 



'' Taken, O Nature, from thy holy shrine: 



" I, only I, should such rich tints bestow, 



'' I, only I, should give that kindhng glow. 



'' Hold!" said the Sister- Goddess,— " the desire 

 " Thus to paint the charms which we inspire, 

 '' Demands our praise— 'tis incense at our shrine, 

 " And Art but proves our Empire more divine. 

 " Art's noblest effort but makes known our Fame ; 

 " Different our realms, our Worship is the same, 

 '' To both does heav7i-born Genius bend the knee!" 

 Then Flora smil'd, and all was Harmony. 



Pratt. 



