24 
In the pathway of Truth follow’d cheerful Old Age , 
The Michaelmas Daisy with Salvia or Sage; 
The last was esteem and one plainly might see 
Their prop was a branch of the sweet Olive Tree: 
At the end of Life’s path they were hid from our view 
Beneath the dark shade of the Cypress and Yew, 
Where the Amaranth wav’d its bright leaves in the air, 
And tho’ lost to the sight, ’twas known where they were. 
Life’s pageant here ended, and as it mov’d on 
Love utter’d encore —but the Lucerne was gone. 
Ah! Beauty is fleeting, a wither’d Bose said, 
As she droop’d on the stem, her once beautiful head; 
With sadness her dead leaves dropt down in a show’r. 
Exciting the pity of many a flow’r: 
Till the sweet little plant that is call’d Mignonette, 
Whose delicate fragrance we ne’er can forget, 
Then caught the poor leaves as they fell in her arms 
And said that “ their virtues surpass’d their lost charms .” 
The Ivy observ’d, when he saw the sad fall, 
“ What sweet recollections those Bose leaves recall; 
