THE 



PROGRESS OF A NATURALIST 



TO FLORA. 



Tis said that poets, if they'd muse, 



Must first a fancied object choose, 



And, by imagination's aid, 



Picture some visionary maid, 



To hear the wand'rings of their brain 



Sigh to their transports, or their pain. 



Then may a fond adorer, too, 

 Muse on the maid he's loved so true 

 The first dear idol of his praise, 

 And faithful still in calmer days. 



Time's finger, perhaps, has rased from view 

 Some fancies that he early knew ; 

 But, Nymph, the love for thee profess'd 

 Has ne'er been rifled from his breast. 



The aged spaniel in his lair 

 Pursues in sleep the timid hare ; 



