VANITY. 
A LitAC, Flora’s darling child, 
The shrubbery’s early pride, 
In magic accents sweetly wild. 
With exultation cried. 
Avaunt from me, ye lardy flowers 
That grovel near the ground. 
Compelled to wait for sultry hours, 
In verdant fetters bound ! 
While I, precursor oft of May, 
In orient splendor dressed. 
Make the cold face of nature gay. 
Her first-horn most caressed. 
Warm with benevolence, I bloom. 
Pride of the embowering shade, 
Or pluck’d, the gorgeous dome perfume. 
Or deck yon matchless maid. 
238 
