FABLES OF FLORA. 11 
Alone the little Gentian grew, 
Loved only by the sun and dew; 
Yet, dwelling from the world apart, 
It kept a warm and social heart. 
One day a brown bee, roving by, 
Caught glimpses of its dark blue eye ; 
He paused, and hovering in the air, 
Made soft and mellow music there. 
The simple flower, unused to hear 
Sounds so bewitching and so dear, 
Stood trembling, smiling, soft and shy, 
With beating heart and downcast eye. 
The bee, in gallantries adept, 
Close to the guileless blossom crept, 
And, lingering in the air above, 
Murmured low, winning words of love. 
1 O, lonely daughter of the wood, 
So gentle, radiant, fair, and good, 
Fold thy poor captive to thy breast, 
And let him there forever rest! 1 
That modest bosom, veiled from sight, 
With one small, dewy gem bedight, 
That shrine, from every slain yet free, 
Was opened to the wooing bee. 
