188 THE BEE-HIVES. 



the balmy spoils of many a rustic flower, "blushing unseen," 

 in simple loveliness. Might not their pleasant murmurings 

 awaken in some the memory of long-forgotten joys, when 

 the happy country child listened to their soothing music, 

 while intently watching them in the old homestead-garden, 

 or roved with them amid pastures and hill-sides, to gather 

 the flowers still rejoicing in their "meadow-sweet breath," 

 or whispering of the precious perfumes of their foi'est home? 



' ' To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 

 One native charm than all the gloss of art; 

 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 

 The soul adopts and owns their first-born sway; 

 Lightly they frolic o 'er tie vacant mind, 

 Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined, 

 But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 

 With all the freaks of wanton wealth array 'd. 

 In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 

 The toilsome pleasure sickens into pain; 

 And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 

 The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy." 



Goldsmith. 



