122 HAREBELL. 



One morning she saw, on the opposite side, 



A Fox-glove displaying his colours of pride : 



She gazed on his form, that in stateliness grew. 



And envied his height, and his brilliant hue; 



She mark'd how the flow'rets all gave way before him, 



While they press'd round her dwelling with far less 



decorum : 

 Dissatisfied, jealous, and peevish she grows, 

 And the sight of this Fox-glove destroys her repose. 



She tires of her vesture, and, swelling with spleen, 

 Cries " Ne'er such a dowdy blue mantle was seen !" 

 Nor keeps to herself any longer her pain. 

 But thus to a primrose begins to complain : 

 " I envy your mood, that can patient abide, 

 " The respect paid that Fox-glove, his airs, and his pride : 

 " There you sit, still the same, with your colourless cheek ; 

 "But you have no spirit — would I were as meek!" 



The Primrose, good-humour'd, replied, " If you knew 

 " More about him — (remember I 'm older than you, 

 "And, better instructed, can tell you his tale) 

 "You'd envy him least of all flowers in the vale: 

 " With all his fine airs and his dazzling show, 

 " No blossom more baneful and odious can blow ; 

 " And the reason that flow'rets before him give way 

 "Is because they all hate him and shrink from his sway: 



"To stay near him long would be fading or death, 

 " For he scatters a pest with his venomous breath ; 



