VINE. 205 
Let clouds obscure, or darkness veil, 
Her fond idolatry is fled; 
Her sighs no more their sweets exhale,— 
The loving eye is cold and dead. 
Canst thou not trace a moral here, 
False flatterer of the prosperous hour? 
Let but an adverse cloud appear, 
And thou art faithless as the flower! 
THE VINE. 
S The grateful juice of the vine has been given to cheer 
the heart of man; and though, alas! it is too often used 
as the excitement to unseemly revelry, where men degrade 
themselves to the condition of the brutes, over which they 
4 were created lords, we confess we like to see 
