230 
ORCHIS. 
And bid it searcli each spicy vale 
Where flowers their fragrant souls exhale ; 
And, labouring for the parent hive, 
With murmurs make the wild alive. 
For when in Parian stone we trace 
Some best-remember’d form or face ; 
Or see on radiant canvas rise 
An imitative Paradise ; 
And feel the warm affections glow, 
Pleased at the pencil’s mimic show ; 
’ Tis but obedience to the plan 
Prom Nature’s birth proposed to Man ; 
Who, lest her choicest sweets in vain 
Should blossom for our thankless train ; 
Lest beauty pass unheeded by 
Like cloud upon the summer sky ; 
Lest mem’ry of the brave and just 
Should sleep with them consign’d to dust ; 
With leading hand th’ expedient proves, 
And paints for us the form she loves. 
