THE STRAWBERRY. 
135 
smell, and is, therefore, the best image of 
perfection which our gardens produce. 
ILLUSTKATION OF THE SENTIMENT. 
Ah, woman! in this world of ours, 
What gift can he compared to thee ? 
How slow would drag life’s weary hours, 
Though man’s proud brow were bound with flowers. 
And his the wealth of land and sea, 
If destined to exist alone, 
And ne’er call woman’s heart his own. 
* * # * # * 
Yes, woman’s love is free from guile. 
And pure as bright Aurora’s ray; 
The heart will melt before its smile, 
And earthly passions fade away. 
Were I the monarch of the earth. 
And master of the swelling sea, 
I would not estimate their worth, 
Dear woman, half the price of thee. 
Mouths. 
