104 
The human beauties of the land 
Must sit for days and hours. 
To let the painter’s mimic hand 
Each feature scan—but floxoers. 
They think, may just he drawn 
As ignorance may like them; 
Leaves snipt and shaped, like gauze or lawn, 
As whim or fancy strike them. 
E’en “ Botanists” mistake my form 
That’s seen by brook and fountain,* 
For my rough cousin’s,f who’s clad warm. 
To dwell on moor and mountain. 
But this I’d pardon, if the Bards’ 
And Poetasters’ chorus 
Were silenced once — we’ll give rewards 
To all who’ll no more bore us. 
That silly Lover, tumbling down 
And drowning in the Rhine, 
First set the jingle-makers on, 
And then that book of thine. 
Oh ! Ackermaun ! like finger-post, 
Directed sumphs to me. 
And e’er since then, the buzzing host 
Have dinned incessantly. 
Myosotis Palustris. 
t Myosotis Alpestris. 
