FABLES OF FLORA 
37 
Than vainer flowers though sweeter far, 
The Evening Primrose shuns the clay; 
Blooms only to the western star, 
And loves its solitary ray. 
In Eden’s vale an aged hind, 
At the dim twilight’s closing hour, 
Upon his time-smoothed staff reclined, 
With wonder viewed the opening flower. 
‘ Ill-fated flower, at eve to blow,’ 
In pity’s simple thought he cries ; 
‘ Thy bosom must not feel the glow 
Of splendid suns or smiling skies. 
‘ Nor thee, the vagrants of the field, 
The hamlet’s little train, behold; 
Their eyes to sweet oppression yield, 
When thine the falling shades unfold. 
1 Nor thee the hasty shepherd heeds, 
When love has filled his heart with cares; 
For flowers he rifles all the meads, 
For waking flowers, but thine forbears. 
‘Ah! waste no more that beauteous bloom, 
On night’s chill shade that fragrant breath; 
Let smiling suns those gems illume 
Fair flower 1 to live unseen, is d< 
