50 THE FABLES OF FLORA. 



" While blood bedews the straining bow, 

 " And conquest rends the scattered air, 



" 'Tis mine to bind the victor's brow, 

 ".And reign in envied glory there. 



"Then lowly bow, ye British flowers! 



" Confess your monarch's mighty sway, 

 " And own the only glory yours, 



" When fear flies trembling to obey." 



He said, and sudden o'er the plain, 

 From flower to flower a murmur ran. 



With modest air, and milder strain. 



When thus the Meadow's Queen besfan. 



"O* 



"If vain of birth, of glory vain, 

 "Or fond to bear a regal name, 



" The pride of folly brings disdain, 

 " And bids me urge a tyrant's claim: 



