08 FABLES OF FLORA. 
‘ Then, Alice, turn thy tearful gaze 
Upon this favorite Mignonette, 
And it shall look such truthful praise, 
That thou wilt quite forget 
< All grief and yearning, in the thought 
That, for thy poor sick brother’s sake, 
Thou long in wearying toil hast wrought, 
With heart too brave to break. 
1 And, Alice, then — O, brightly, then, 
And not with tears, thy heart shall dream 
Of every flowery nook and glen* 
And every glancing stream. 
‘ And gayly shall thy song be heard, 
Above the shuttle and the roll, 
Soft chiming with the woodland bird 
That warbles in thy soul.’ 
