PROGRESS OF A NATURALIST. 



That aged man reposing there, 

 On cushion soft in elbow chair, 

 Was he, the slender, musing boy, 

 Which play'd with Mora, as his toy, 

 And to his early passion true, 

 Fair nymph ! still often thinks on you ! 

 He sits in silent humble bower, 

 And marks the border's varied flower ; 

 Exulting to his neighbour shows 

 The bright Geranium's vivid glows ; 

 Some new Carnation from its bed 

 Lifts by his care her speckled head ; 

 And other simple pretty things 

 As harmless recreation brings ; 

 Tells of the seasons that are flown, 

 And waits in patient hope his own. 



Yet one spray more one wreath would crave, 

 Such palmy boughs as angels wave ; 

 In that fair pasture he would stray, 

 Where faith, where virtue, point the way, 

 With amaranthine crown to sing 

 Hosannas sweet to Flora's King. 



