48 FABLES OF FLORA. 
The exulting boast, so loudly made, 
A neighboring Robin heard ; 
He was, despite his flippant ways, 
A philosophic bird. 
‘ What is thy beauty worth? ’ he said, 
In tones of sharp disdain; 
‘ Allow thou art the fairest flower, 
So art thou the most vain 1 
‘ And vanity, in any heart, 
Obscures the brightest face; 
’T is modesty that all men deem 
The only perfect grace. 
‘ Behold yon little Violet, 
How quietly it blooms! 
With what a sweet and balmy breath 
The meadow it perfumes! 
‘ How rich its robe of purple hue! 
How bright its golden eye 1 
And yet how modestly it lifts 
Its glances to the sky. 
‘ O, Iris! learn from this sweet flower 
The beauty of that life, 
"Which never borrows lustre from 
The pageantry of strife. 
