THE FABLES OF FLORA. 23 



Nor thee, the vagrants of the field, 

 " The hamlet's little tram behold; 

 Their eyes to sweet oppression yield, 

 " When thine the falling shades mifold. 



Nor thee the hasty shepherd heeds, 



" When love has filled his heart w^ith cares. 



For flowers he rifles all the meads, 



*' For waking flov\ers — but thine forbears. 



■ Ah! waste no more that beauteous bloom 

 " On night's chill shade, that fragrant breath, 



' Let smiling suns those gems illume! 

 " Fair flower, to live unseen is death." 



Soft as the voice of vernal gales 



That o'er the bending meadow blow. 



Or streams that steal through even vales, 

 x\nd murmur that they move so slow: 



