THE TABLES OF FLORA. 73 



" No more I hear the busy voice of men 



^* Far-toiling o'er the globe — save to the call 



" Of soul-exalting poetry, the ear 



" Of death denies attention. Roused by her, 



" Th« genius of sepulchral silence opes 



"His drowsy cells, and yields us to the day. 



" For thee, v^hose hand, whatever paints the spring, 



*' Or swells on summer's breast, or loads the lap 



*' Of autumn, gathers heedful — Thee whose rites 



"At nature's shrine with holy care are paid 



" Daily and nightly, boughs of brightest green, 



" And every fairest rose, the god of groves, 



" The queen of flowers, shall sweeter save for thee. 



" Yet not if beauty only claim thy lay, 



" Tunefully trifling. Fair philosophy, 



" And nature's love, and every moral charm 



" That leads in sweet captivity the mind 



" To virtue — ever in thy nearest cares 



" Be these, and animate thy living page 



" With truth resistless, beaming from the source 



G 



