HELIOTROPE. 
155 
Let clouds obscure, or darkness veil, 
Her fond idolatry is fled ; 
Her sighs no more their sweets exhale, 
The loving eye is cold and dead. 
Canst thou not trace a moral here, 
False flatterer of the prosperous hour? 
Let but an adverse cloud appear, 
And thou art faithless as the flower. 
HELIOTROPE. 
She, enamoured of the sun, 
At his departure hangs her head and weeps, 
And shrouds her sweetness up, and keeps 
Sad vigils like a cloistered nun, 
Till his reviving ray appears, 
Waking her beauty as he dries her tears. 
