102 FABLES OF FLORA. 
That golden Broom its sunny robe of flowers. 
Fair are the sunny flowers, but fading soon 
And fruitless, yield the forester’s regard 
To the well-loaded Wildling. Shepherd, there 
Behold the fate of song, and lightly deem 
Of all but moral beauty.’ 
‘ Not in vain,’ 
I hear my Hamilton reply, 
The torch of fancy in his eye, — 
‘ ’T is not in vain,’ I hear him say, 
‘ That Nature paints her works so gay; 
For, fruitless though that fairy Broom, 
Yet still we love her lavish bloom. 
Cheered with that bloom, yon desert wild 
Its native horrors lost, and smiled; 
And oft we mark her golden ray, 
Along the dark wood, scatter day. 
‘ Of moral uses take the strife; 
Leave me the elegance of life; 
Whatever charms the ear or eye, 
All beauty and all harmony! 
If sweet sensations these produce, 
I know they have their moral use. 
I know that Nature’s charms can move 
The springs that strike to Virtue’s love.’ 
Dr. Lanohoenb. 
