FABLES OF FLORA.

K 2

TO THE HON, CHARLES YORKE.

A MUSE that lov'd in Nature's walks to stray,
And gather'd many a wild flower in her way,
To Nature's friend her genuine gifts would bring,
The light amusements of Life's vacant Spring;
Nor shalt thou, Yorke! her humble offering blame,
pure her incense, and unmixt her flame.

If

She pours no flattery into folly's ear,

No shameless hireling of a shameless Peer;
The friends of Pope indulge her native lays,
And Gloucester joins with Lyttleton to praise.
Each judge of art, her strain, though artless, loves;
And Shenstone smil'd, and polish'd Hurd approves.
O may such spirits long protect my page,
Surviving lights of Wit's departed age!
Long may I in their kind opinion live!
All meaner praise, all envy I forgive.--
Yet fairly be my future laurels won :

Nor let me bear a bribe to Hardwicke's son!
Should his free suffrage own the favour'd strain,
Though vain the toil, the glory were not vain.

PROEMIUM: WRITTEN IN 1766.

IN Eden's* vale, where early fancy wrought
Her wild embroidery on the ground of thought,
Where Pembroke's† grottos, strewed with Sidney's
Recall'd the dreams of visionary days,

:

[bays, Thus the fond Muse, that sooth'd my vacant youth, Prophetic sung, and what she sung was truth:'Boy! break thy lyre, and cast thy reed away; Vain are the honours of the fruitless bay. Though with each charm thy polish'd lay should please,

Glow into strength, yet soften into ease;
Should Attic fancy brighten every line,
And all Aonia's harmony be thine;

Say would thy cares a grateful age repay?

Fame wreathe thy brows, or Fortune gild thy way?
Ev'n her own fools, if Fortune smile, shall blame;
And envy lurks beneath the flowers of Fame.
Yet, if resolv'd, secure of future praise,
To tune sweet songs, and live melodious days,
Let not the hand that decks my holy shrine,
Round Folly's head the blasted laurel twine.
Just to thyself, dishonest Grandeur scorn;
Nor gild the bust of Meanness nobly born.
Let Truth, let Freedom, still thy lays approve!
Respect my precepts, and retain my love!'

* The river Eden, in Westmoreland.

†The Countess of Pembroke, to whom Sir Philip Sidney dedicated his Arcadia,' resided at Appleby, a small but beautiful town in Westmoreland, situated upon the Eden.

FABLES OF FLORA.

-Sylvas, saltusque sequamur
Intactos

VIRG.

THE SUNFLOWER AND THE IVY.

As duteous to the place of prayer,
Within the convent's lonely walls,
The holy sisters still repair,

What time the rosy morning calls:

So fair, each morn, so full of grace,
Within their little garden rear'd,
The flower of Phœbus turn'd her face
To meet the power she lov'd and fear'd.

And where, along the rising sky,

Her god in brighter glory burn'd,
Still there her fond observant eye,
And there her golden breast she turn'd.

When calling from their weary height
On western waves his beams to rest,
Still there she sought the parting sight,
And there she turn'd her golden breast.

But soon as night's invidious shade
Afar his lovely looks had borne,
With folded leaves and drooping head,
Full sore she griev'd, as one forlorn.