VINE. 205 



Let clouds obscure, or darkness veil, 

 Her fond idolatry is fled ; 

 Her sighs no more their sweets exhale, — 

 The loving eye is cold and dead. 



Canst thou not trace a moral here. 

 False flatterer of the prosperous hour? 

 Let but an adverse cloud appear, 

 And thou art faithless as the flower! 



THE VINE. 



The grateful juice of the vine has been given to cheer 

 the heart of man ; and though, alas ! it is too often used 

 as the excitement to unseemly revelry, where men degrade 

 themselves to the condition of the brutes, over which they 

 were created lords, we confess we like to see 



Depending vines the shelving caverns screen, 

 With purple clusters blushing through the green. 



But oh ! let vines luxuriant roll 

 Their blushing tendrils round the bowl. 



ANACREON. 



