38 FABLES OF FLORA. 
Soft, as the voice of vernal gales, 
That o’er the bending meadow blow, 
Or streams that steal through even vales, 
And murmur that they move so slow; 
Deep in her unfrequented bower, 
Sweet Philomela poured her strains; 
The bird of eve approved her flower, 
And answered thus the anxious swain: 
‘Live unseen! 
By moonlight shades, in valleys green, 
Lovely flower, we ’ll live unseen. 
Of our pleasures deem not lightly; 
Laughing day may look more sprightly, 
But I love the modest mien 
Of gentle evening and her star-trained queen. 
Didst thou, shepherd, never find, 
Pleasure is of pensive kind? 
Has thy cottage never known 
That she loves to live alone? 
Dost thou not, at evening hour, 
Feel some soft and secret power 
Gliding o’er thy yielding mind, 
Leave sweet serenity behind ; 
While, all disarmed, the cares of day 
Steal through the falling gloom away? 
Love to think thy lot was laid 
In this undistinguished shade. 
