216 POETEY OF FLOWERS. 
‘ Why, else, the o’ergrown paths of time 
Would thus the letter’d sage explore. 
With pain these crumbling ruins climb, 
And on the doubtful sculpture pore ? 
‘Why seeks he with unwearied toil 
Through death’s dim walk to urge his way. 
Reclaim his long asserted spoil. 
And lead Oblivion into day V 
THE HYACINTH. 
Child of the Spring, thou charming flower. 
No longer in confinement lie, 
Arise to light, thy form discover, 
Rival the azure of the sky. 
The rains are gone, the storms are o’er. 
Winter retires to make thee way : 
Come, then, thou sweetly blooming flower, 
Come, lovely stranger, come awav. 
The sun is dressed in beaming smiles. 
To give thy beauty to the day : 
Young zephyrs wait with gentlest gales, 
To fan thy beauty as they play. 
