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A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS. 100 
But, O young beauty of the woods, 
Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, 
Gather the flowers but spare the buds ; 
Lest Flora, angry at that crime, 
To kill the infants in their prime, 
Should quickly make the example yours, 
And e’er we see 
Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee. 
THE HYACINTH. 
BY CASIMIR. 
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 aw r ay. 
The sun is dressed in beaming smiles, 
To give thy beauties to the day: 
Young zephyrs wait with gentlest gales, 
To fan thy bosom as they play. 
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