I view’d the Plant, its form admir’d;
When a more modest Flow’r
Engag’d my eye, where soft it rose
Within its lonely bow’r.
IX.
“Sweet tribes, (he sang,) fair FLORA’S care,
“What beauties you display!
“My breast expands with social joy
“To see your bright array.
X.
“To me, the last of flow’rets, give,
“Within this pale to grow:
“And give the west winds gentle breath
“O’er this my bed to blow.”
XI.
He spoke—the pow’rs indulgent heard,
Soft ZEPHYRS fann’d the trees;
And o’er his humble earthy bed
Diffus’d a gentle breeze.
XII.
Smit with the fragrance of the scent
The winds rejoicing bore;
I own’d the pow’r of modest worth,
Whose rival charm’d no more.
XIII.
Say, Fair-ones, is the Moral plain,
In easy Fable drest?
It is but this—To Merit true,
Throw Coxcombs from your breast.