FABLES OF FLORA. 121 
‘ The grass lies softly o’er its roots, 
And waves around its tall green stem; 
The dragon-fly above it shoots, 
Or crowns it like a diadem. 
‘ It hears the murmuring of bees, 
The droning of the summer flies, 
And the low music of the breeze 
That on the streamlet’s bosom dies. 
‘ It feels upon its crimson lip 
The kisses of the timid air, 
And wooes the humming-bird to sip 
The sweetness daily offered there. 
‘ Why should that flower so brightly live, 
While I, to barren rocks confined, 
No sweels to bird or insect give, 
Nor joy to one of human kind.’ 
So mourned a Lichen, sear and gray, 
That o’er a ledge its mantle spread j 
A poet heard the mournful lay, 
And with compassion kindly said ; 
‘ Since God is good, ’t is wrong to deem 
His dealings partial or unjust; 
Though hard our fate may sometimes seem, 1 
’T is easy still to wait and trust. 
