LILIES. 
147 
There, when mild autumn’s early rain 
Descends on parch’d Esdrela’s plain, 
And Tabor’s oak-girt crest.— 
More frequent than the host of night, 
Those earth-born stars, as sages write, 
Their brilliant disks unfold; 
Fit symbol of imperial state 
Their sceptre-seeming forms elate, 
And crowns of burnish’d gold. 
But not the less, sweet springtide’s flower, 
Dost thou display the Maker’s power. 
His skill and handy work, 
Our western valley’s humbler child; 
Where in green nook of woodland wild 
Thy modest blossoms lurk. 
What though nor care nor art be thine, 
The loom to ply, the thread to twine ; 
Yet, born to bloom and fade, 
Thee, too, a lovelier robe arrays, 
Than e’er in Israel’s brightest days 
Her wealthiest king array’d. 
Of thy twin leaves th’ embowered screen 
W hich wraps thee in thy shroud of green; 
Thy Eden-breathing smell; 
Thy arch’d and purple-vested stem, 
o 
