34 THE FABLES OF FLORA. 



Darts swiftly through the stagnant mass. 

 His waters trembhng as they pass. 

 And leads his lucid waves below. 

 Unmixed, unsullied as they flow — 

 So clear through life's tumultuous tide. 

 So free could Thought and Fancy glide; 

 Could Hope as sprightly hold her course, 

 As first she left her native source. 

 Unsought in her romantic cell 

 The keeper of her dreams might dwell. 



But ah! they will not, will not last — 

 When life's first fairy stage is past. 

 The glowing hand of Hope is cold; 

 And Fancy lives not to be old. 

 Darker, and darker all before; 

 We turn the former prospect o'er; 

 And find in Memory's faithful eye 

 Our little stock of pleasures lie. 



