WILD FLOWERS. 55 
The tear in her timid and sorrowful eye 
Might well put the zephyr and beam to the 
blush; 
But the saucy light laughed, and said, “ Pray don’t 
cry! ” 
And the gay zephyr sang to her, “ Hush, sweet, 
hush!” 
They kissed her and petted her fondly at first; 
But a storm arose, and the false light fled; 
4 nd the zephyr changed into an angry breeze, 
That scolded her till she was almost dead! 
The gem on her bosom was stained and dark, 
The snow of her robe had lost its light, 
And tears of sorrow had dimmed the spark 
Of beauty and youth, that made her bright! 
And so she lay with her fair head low, 
And mournfully sighed in her dying hour, 
“ Ah! had I courageously answered ‘ no! ’ 
I had now been safe in my native bower! ” 
