FABLES OF FLORA. 65 
Nor glows his eye with brighter glee, 
When stealing near her orient breast, 
Than felt the fond, enamoured bee, 
When first the golden bloom he pressed. 
Ah! pity much his youth, untried 
His heart in beauty’s magic spell! 
So never passion thee betide, 
But where the genial virtues dwell. 
In vain he seeks those virtues there ; 
No soul sustaining sweets ab.ound; 
No honeyed sweetness, to repair 
The languid waste of life, is found. 
An aged bee, whose labors led 
Through those fair springs and meads of gold, 
His feeble wing his drooping head 
Beheld, and pitied to behold. 
‘ Fly, fond adventurer, fly the art 
That courts thy eye with fair attire; 
Who smiles to win the heedless heart, 
Will smile to see that heart expire. 
‘ This modest flower, of humbler hue, 
That boasts no depth of glowing dyes, 
Arrayed in unbespangled blue, 
The simple clothing of the skies; 
s 
