THE TULIP AND THE MYRTLE.

'Twas on the border of a stream
A gaily painted Tulip stood,
And, gilded by the morning beam,
Survey'd her beauties in the flood.
And sure, more lovely to behold,
Might nothing meet the wistful eye,
Than crimson fading into gold,
In streaks of fairest symmetry.

The beauteous flower, with pride elate,
(Ah me! that pride with beauty dwells,)
Vainly affects superior state,

And thus in empty fancy swells:

O lustre of unrivall'd bloom! Fair painting of a hand divine; Superior far to mortal doom,

The hues of heaven alone are mine.

'Away, ye worthless, formless race!

Ye weeds, that boast the name of flowers?

No more my native bed disgrace,

Unmeet for tribes so mean as yours!

Shall the bright daughter of the Sun Associate with the shrubs of Earth? Ye slaves, your sovereign's presence shun! Respect her beauties and her birth.

And thou, dull, sullen evergreen? Shalt thou my shining sphere invade ? My noon-day beauties beam unseen, Obscur'd beneath thy dusky shade?'

'Deluded flower! (the Myrtle cries) Shall we thy moment's bloom adore! The meanest shrub that you despise, The meanest flower has merit more. 'That daisy, in its simple bloom,

Shall last along the changing year; Blush on the snow of Winter's gloom, And bid the smiling Spring appear. The violet, that, those banks beneath, Hides from thy scorn its modest head, Shall fill the air with fragrant breath, When thou art in thy dusty bed. 'E'en I, who boast no golden shade, Am of no shining tints possess'd, When low thy lucid form is laid,

Shall bloom on many a lovely breast. 'And he, whose kind and fostering care To thee, to me, our beings gave, Shall near his breast my flowerets wear, And walk regardless o'er thy grave. 'Deluded flower! the friendly screen

That hides thee from the noon-tide ray, And mocks thy passion to be seen, Prolongs thy transitory day.

'But kindly deeds with scorn repaid, No more by Virtue need be done : I now withdraw my dusky shade,

And yield thee to thy darling Sun.' Fierce on the flower the scorching beam With all its weight of glory fell; The flower exulting caught the gleam, And lent its leaves a bolder swell.

Expanded by the searching fire,

The curling leaves the breast disclos'd; The mantling bloom was painted higher, And every latent charm expos'd.

But when the Sun was sliding low,

And Evening came, with dews so cold;
The wanton beauty ceas'd to blow,

And sought her bending leaves to fold.
Those leaves, alas! no more would close:
Relax'd, exhausted, sickening, pale;
They left her to a parent's woes,
And fled before the rising gale.

THE BEE-FLOWER.*

COME, let us leave this painted plain;
This waste of flowers that palls the eye :
The walks of Nature's wilder reign

Shall please in plainer majesty.

Through those fair scenes, where yet she owes
Superior charms to Brockman's art,
Where, crown'd with elegant repose,
He cherishes the social heart-

* This is a species of the Orchis, which is found in the barren and mountainous parts of Lincolnshire, Worcestershire, Kent, and Hertfordshire. Nature has formed a bee apparently feeding on the breast of a flower, with so much exactness, that it is impossible at a very small distance to distinguish the imposition. For this purpose she has observed an economy different from what is found in most other flowers, and bas laid the petals horizontally. The genus of the orchs, or satyrion, she seems professedly to have made use of for her paintings; and on the different species has drawn the perfect forms of different insects, such as bees, flies, butterflies, &c.

Should beauty's soul-enchanting smile,
Love-kindling looks and features gay,
Should these thy wandering eye beguile,
And steal thy wareless heart away;
That heart shall soon with sorrow swell,
And soon the erring eye deplore,
If in the beauteous bosom dwell
No gentle virtue's genial store.
Far from his hive one summer-day,
A young and yet unpractis'd bee,
Borne on his tender wings away,
Went forth the flowery world to see.
The morn, the noon, in play he pass'd,
But when the shades of evening came,
No parent brought the due repast,
And faintness seiz'd his little frame.

By nature urg'd, by instinct led,

The bosom of a flower he sought,
Where streams mourn'd round a mossy bed,
And Violets all the bank enwrought.

Of kindred race, but brighter dies,
On that fair bank a Pansy grew,
That borrow'd from indulgent skies
A velvet shade and purple hue.
The tints that stream'd with glossy gold,
The velvet shade, the purple hue,

The stranger wonder'd to behold,
And to its beauteous bosom flew.

Not fonder haste the lover speeds,
At evening's fall his fair to meet,
When o'er the hardly-bending meads
He springs on more than mortal feet.

Nor glows his eyes with brighter glee,
When stealing near her orient breast;
Than felt the fond enamour'd bee,
When first the golden bloom he prest.
Ah! pity much his youth untried,
His heart in beauty's magic spell!
So never passion thee betide,

But where the genial virtues dwell.
In vain he seeks those virtues there;
No soul-sustaining charms abound:
No honey'd sweetness to repair

The languid waste of life is found.

An aged bee, whose labours led

Through those fair springs, and meads of gold, His feeble wing, his drooping head Beheld, and pitied to behold.

Fly, fond adventurer, fly the art

That courts thine eye with fair attire ; Who smiles to win the heedless heart, Will smile to see that heart expire.

This modest flower of humbler hue, That boasts no depth of glowing dies, Array'd in unbespangled blue,

The simple clothing of the skies

This flower, with balmy sweetness blest,
May yet thy languid life renew:'-
He said, and to the Violet's breast
The little vagrant faintly flew.