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, 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 Devoured like pleasure ere it spreads If such their harsh untimely doom, It falls not here on bud or bloom. All Summer long the happy Eve From the next glance she casts, to find 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 Only by art in nature lost. crost And, though the jealous turf refuse Ye, gentle breezes from the West, 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. |