ARCADIAN HYMN TO FLORA. 
403 
Or cups and beakers of the butterflies, 
Brimming with nectar; or a string of bells 
Tolling unheard a requiem for the hours! 
Or censers swinging incense to the skies; 
Pavilions, tents, and towers, 
The little fortresses of insect powers, 
Winding their horns within; or magic cells, 
Where little fiiries dream the time away, 
Night elfins slumbering all a summer’s day; 
Sweet nurslings thou art wont to feed with dew 
Prom out thy urns, replenished in the blue.— 
"But this is idlesse all!—away ! away ! 
White-handed maids, and scatter buds around, 
And let the lutes awake and tabours sound, 
And every heart its due devotion pay. 
Once more we thank thee, Flora, and once more 
Perform our rites, as we were used to do. 
Oli bless us, smile upon us, fair and true, 
And watch the flowers till summer’s reign is o’er; 
Preserve the seeds we sow in winter time 
From burrowing moles, and blight, and icy rime, 
And in their season cause the shoots to rise, 
And make the dainty buds unseal their eyes, 
And we will pluck the finest, and entwine 
Chaplets, and lay them on thy rural shrine, 
And sing our choral hymns, melodious, sweet, 
And dance with nimble feet, 
And worship thee as now, serenely gay 
The goddess of the flowers and Queen of May I 
