142 
« Long hath the lily closed her silver bells, 
And the rose droop’d ’neath evening’s dewy spells: 
But thou, still sleepless, to the gale dost spread 
Sweets which might seem from fairy’s censer shed; 
What holds thee waking ? — not the guilt or woes 
That oft from human bosoms scare repose. 
Let care and sorrow watch the night-hours through, 
Let misers wake to count their hoards anew, 
But flowers, sweet flowers, “ which neither spin nor 
toil,” 
Whose little lives are one perpetual smile; 
Children of sunshine *— ye, with day’s last gleam, 
Should sink to sleep till roused by morning’s beam.’ 
‘ The sun has cheer’d me through the livelong day, 
The breeze has fann’d me in its gentle play, 
The dews have fed me, and the summer shower 
Temper’d the fervour of the noontide hour; 
Then is’t not meet, ere yet I close my eye, 
That I should yield to heaven a fragrant sigh ? 
Reverse the scene—should threat’ning clouds prevail, 
And loud and louder blow the angry gale, 
