74 FABLES OF FLORA. 
‘ Thou little rustic maid,’ I said, 
‘ What joy attends a life like tliine, 
Exposed to every careless tread, 
As thou art now to mine ? 
‘ And yet thou wear’st a cheerful look, 
As though with destiny content; 
Come, reason with me, like a book, 
And tell me why thou ’rt sent.’ 
The flower, with modest ease replied, 
‘My mission, though not high, like thine, 
Has taught me, whatsoe’er betide, 
To doubt not, nor repine. 
N 
‘ My .ife, though lowly, is serene; 
And, dwelling in this sunny spot, 
’Mid breezes soft and meadows green, 
I bless my daily lot. 
‘ And when the lily-fingered girls, 
With golden tassels of the birch 
Entwined amid their floating curls, 
Beneath the grasses search. 
‘ I kiss their little snowy palm3, 
And, with my melting, ruby lips, 
Press blushes on their soft, white arms, 
And fingers’ rosy tips 
