16 
Not Fancy herself such embroidery can paint, 
Her hand is too feeble, her colours too faint. 
But there we are told ’mid Arcadian bow’rs 
Dwells the genius of Plants and the angel of Flow’rs, 
And there in a grove of green Myrtle alone 
Bose the temple of Flora, the goddess’s throne ; 
Commanding the garden, the beautiful scene, 
Prepar’d for young Cupid, the guest of the queen; 
Who shrewdly suspecting the truant would stray 
Now begg’d his attendance as page for the day. 
Love peevishly cried, am I thus to be bound 
Whilst Beauty unheeded is blushing around ? 
No, no, I’m a god and delight to be free, 
Hyacinthean fetters shall never bind me. 
And have I not promis’d my Psyche to bring 
A wreath for her brow from the garland of Spring ? 
111 seek for the Hose , the Forget-me-not too , 
The lovely Carnation which borrows my hue , 
The Lily , the Pink , and the Heliotrope flow’r, 
And an Eglantine sprig from the Paphian bow’r. 
