112 FIOBA’S ALBUM. 
Tulip, 
“ Then comes the tulip race, where beauty play* 
Her idle freaks.” Thomsoit. 
DECLARATION OF LOVE. 
Why hangest thou thy maiden head 
With such a coyness ? Why’s the rich 
Blush spreading its roseate tints 
O’er thy fair cheek ? Is’t because I’ve 
Told the tender tale, which within 
My heart has, like a hallowed flame. 
Been burning, and feeding on its 
Inward light, till it no longer 
Could the silent smothering keep ? 
Then bursting forth, laden with its 
Long-cherished, silent eloquence. 
Asking thee but to love the heart. 
Which loveth thee so well ? If so. 
Then I am blest 1 for by those eyes 
Downcast, as if their lids were lade 
With tears unshed, I find my hopes 
Not blasted, —but my heart receired. 
