218 THE lover’s offering, 
hast slain thousands of lovely swains, and 
beautifully attractive maids ! 
“ Say, gentle lady of the bower, 
For thou, though young, art wise, 
And known to thee is every flower, 
Beneath our milder skies ;— 
“ Say which the plant of modest dye, 
And lovely mien combined, 
That, fittest to the pensive eye, 
Displays the virtuous mind P 
“ I sought the groves where innocence 
Methought might long reside ; 
But April’s blossom banish’d thence, 
Gave summer Flora’s pride. 
“ I sought the garden’s boasted haunt; 
But on the gay parterre 
Carnations glow, and tulips flaunt; 
No humble floweret there.’ 
“ The flower you seek,” the nymph replies, 
Has bow’d the languid head; 
For on its bloom the blazing skies 
Their sultry rage have shed. 
“ ’Tis now the downward withering day 
Of winter’s dull presage, 
That seeks not where the dog-star’s ray 
Has shed his fiercest rage. 
