PRIMROSE 
Nor bid the gentle zephyr round thee play, 
Nor-’raptured eye thee basking in the ray; 
But snapped untimely from thy velvet stem, 
Be thou my daily care, my “ bonnie gem,” 
And when thus severed from thy native glade, 
The radiance of thy cinque-rayed star shall fade, 
And pale decay come creeping o’er thy bloom, 
A sigh, dear flower, shall mourn thy early doom. 
THE PRIMROSE. 
MRS. HUNTER. 
The sun declines, his parting ray 
Shall bear the cheerful light away, 
And on the landscape close : 
Then will I seek the lonely vale, 
Where sober evening’s primrose pale 
To greet the night star blows. 
Soft melancholy bloom, to thee 
I turn, with conscious sympathy, 
Like thee my hour is come ; 
When lengthening shadows slowly 
Till lost in universal shade, 
They sink beneath the tomb. 
By thee I’ll sit, and inly muse, 
What are the charms in life we lose 
When time demands our breath. 
Alas ! the load of lengthened age 
Has little can our wish engage, 
Or point the shaft of death. 
