210 
THE ENCHANTED l'LANTS. 
u Oh, hear a timid suppliant’s prayer, 
Nymph of the blushing hours, 
Incline, and rescue from despair, 
The most forlorn of Flowers ! 
“ Fair am I formed, and sweet ’tis true, 
Thy favourite blue-eyed maid ; 
Each spring am fed with pearly dew, 
But cloistered in the shade. 
u Were I exalted on my stem 
By solar beams inspired ; 
What Pink, what Rose, what fragrant gem, 
Like me would be admired ?” 
(< How,” cried, with royal pride, the Rose, 
(Betrayed by her petition, 
Or else what mortal could suppose 
She liked not her condition ?) 
Shall such mean reptiles dare complain, 
Sweet ruler of the year ! 
While I, thy vice-queen, crowned in vain, 
Here shed the silent tear ? 
