PRIMROSE. 6? 



The flower yoa seek, the nymph replies, 



Has bovv'd the languid head ; 

 For on its bloom the blazing skies 



Their sultry rage have shed. 



Yet search yon shade obscure, forlorn. 



Where rude the bramble grows ; 

 There, shaded by the humble thorn, 



The lingering primrose blows. 



TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. 



HEREICK. 



Why do you weep? Can tears 

 Speak grief in you 

 Who were but born 

 Just as the modest morn 

 Teem'd her refreshing dew? 



Alas! you have not known that shower 

 That mars a flower; 

 Nor felt th' unkind 

 Breath of a blasting wind ; 

 Nor are ye worn with years ,* 



Nor warp'd as we, 

 Who think it strange to see 

 Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 

 To speak by tears before ye have a tongue. 



