64 FABLES OF FLORA. 
Far from his hive, one summer day, 
A young and yet unpractised bee, 
Borne on his tender wings away, 
Went forth the flowery world to see. 
The morn, the noon, in play he passed; 
But when the shades of evening came, 
No parent brought the due repast, 
And faintness seized his little frame. 
By Nature urged, by instinct led, 
The bosom of a flower he sought, 
Where streams mourned round a mossy bed, 
And Violets all the bank enwrought. 
Of kindred race, but brighter dyes, 
On that fair bank a Pansy grew, 
That borrowed from indulgent skies 
A velvet shade and purple hue. 
The tints, that streamed with glossy gold 
The velvet shade and purple hue, 
The stranger wondered to behold, 
And to its beauteous bosom flew. 
Not fonder haste the lover speeds, 
At evening’s fall, his fair to meet, 
When o’er the hardly bending meads 
He springs on more than mortal feet. 
