FLORA AND THALIA. 



SUM3IER THE TROPICS. 



Bear me, Pomona, to thy citron groves ; 

 To where the lemon, and the piercing lime, 

 With the deep orange, glowing through the green, 

 Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclined 

 Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes, 

 Fanned by the breeze, its ever cooling fruit. 

 Deep in the night the massy locust sheds. 

 Quench my hot limbs ; or lead me through the maze. 

 Embowering endless, of the Indian fig : 

 Or thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow, 

 Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cooled, 

 Broad o'er my head the verdant cedars wave, 

 And high palmettos lift their graceful shade. 

 Or stretched amid these orchards of the sun, 

 Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl, 

 And from the palm to draw its freshening wine. 

 More bounteous far than all the frantic juice 

 Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs, 

 Low bending, be the full pomegranate scorned ; 

 Nor creeping through the wood, the gelid race 

 Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells 

 Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp. 

 Witness, thou best Anana ! thou, the pride 

 Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er 



