

CHILD AND FLOWER. 
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. 
Who would be more, 
Swelling through store, 
Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. 
TDhe Abodora. 
Himerson. 
N May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods ; 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 
Made the black water with their beauty gay ; 
Here might the red-breast come, his plumes to cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 
Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
Thy charm is wasted on earth and sky, 

