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POEMS OF THE FANCY

CONTINUED.

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XIII.

A FLOWER GARDEN.

Tell me, ye Zephyrs ! that unfold,
While fluttering o'er this gay Recess,
Pinions that fanned the teeming mould
Of Eden's blissful wilderness,
Did only softly-stealing Hours
There close the peaceful lives of flowers ?

Say, when the moving Creatures saw
All kinds commingled without fear,
Prevailed a like indulgent law
For the still Growths that prosper here?

Did wanton Fawn and Kid forbear

The half-blown Rose, the Lily spare ?

Or peeped they often from their beds
And prematurely disappeared,
Devoured like pleasure ere it spreads
A bosom to the Sun endeared ?
If such their harsh untimely doom,

It falls not here on bud or bloom.

All Summer long the happy Eve
Of this fair Spot her flowers may bind,
Nor e'er, with ruffled fancy, grieve,
From the next glance she casts, to find
That love for little Things by Fate

Is rendered vain as love for great.

Yet, where the guardian Fence is wound,
So subtly is the eye beguiled
It sees not nor suspects a Bound,
No more than in some forest wild ;
Free as the light in semblance - crost
Only by art in nature lost.

And, though the jealous turf refuse

By random footsteps to be prest,
And feeds on never-sullied dews,

Ye, gentle breezes from the West,

With all the ministers of Hope,
Are tempted to this sunny slope !

And hither throngs of Birds resort; Some, inmates lodged in shady nests, Some, perched on stems of stately port That nod to welcome transient guests ; While Hare and Leveret, seen at play, Appear not more shut out than they.

Apt emblem (for reproof of pride)

This delicate Enclosure shows

Of modest kindness, that would hide
The firm protection she bestows;
Of manners, like its viewless fence,
Ensuring peace to innocence.

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