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The RE are that love the shades of life, And shun the splendid walks of Fame; There are that hold it rueful strife

To risk AMBITIon's losing game:

[graphic]

That far from ENvy's lurid eye
The fairest fruits of GENIUs rear,

Content to see them bloom and die
In Friendship's small but kindly sphere.

Than vainer flowers though sweeter far,
The Evening Primrose shuns the day;
Blooms only to the western star,

And loves its solitary ray.

In EDEN's vale an aged hind,
At the dim twilight's closing hour,

On his time-smoothed staff reclined,
With wonder viewed the opening flower.

“Ill-fated flower, at eve to blow,”
In pity's simple thought he cries,

“Thy bosom must not feel the glow
“Of splendid suns, or smiling skies.

“Nor thee, the vagrants of the field,
“The hamlet's little train behold;

“Their eyes to sweet oppression yield,
“When thine the falling shades unfold.

“Nor thee the hasty shepherd heeds, “When love has filled his heart with cares, “For flowers he rifles all the meads,

“For waking flowers—but thine forbears.

“Ah! waste no more that beauteous bloom “On night's chill shade, that fragrant breath, “Let smiling suns those gems illume!

“Fair flower, to live unseen is death.”

Soft as the voice of vernal gales
That o'er the bending meadow blow,
Or streams that steal through even vales,

And murmur that they move so slow:

That far from ENvy's lurid eye
The fairest fruits of GENIU's rear,

Content to see them bloom and die
In Friendship's small but kindly sphere.

Than vainer flowers though sweeter far, The Evening Primrose shuns the day; Blooms only to the western star,

And loves its solitary ray.

In EDEN's vale an aged hind,
At the dim twilight's closing hour,
On his time-smoothed staff reclined,

With wonder viewed the opening flower.

“Ill-fated flower, at eve to blow,"
In pity's simple thought he cries,

“Thy bosom must not feel the glow
“Of splendid suns, or smiling skies.

“Nor thee, the vagrants of the field,
“The hamlet's little train behold;

“Their eyes to sweet oppression yield,
“When thine the falling shades unfold.

“Nor thee the hasty shepherd heeds, “When love has filled his heart with cares, “For flowers he rifles all the meads,

“For waking flowers—but thine forbears.

“Ah! waste no more that beauteous bloom “On night's chill shade, that fragrant breath, “Let smiling suns those gems illume!

“Fair flower, to live unseen is death.”

Soft as the voice of vernal gales
That o'er the bending meadow blow,

Or streams that steal through even vales,
And murmur that they move so slow:

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