56 THE FABLES OF FLORA. 



" Where longs to fall that rifted spire, 



" As weary of th' insulting air; 

 " The poet's thought, the warrior's fire, 



" The lover's sighs are sleeping there. 



" When that too shakes the trembling ground, 

 " Borne down by some tempestuous sky, 



" And many a slumbering cottage round 

 ** Startles — how still their hearts will lie! 



" Of them who, wrapt in earth so cold, 

 " No more the smiling day shall view, 



" Should many a tender tale be told; 

 " For many a tender thought is due. 



" Hast thou not seen some lover pale, 

 " When evening brought the pensive hour, 



" Step slowly o'er the shadowy vale, 

 " And stop to pluck the frequent flower? 



