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One morning she saw, on the opposite side,
A Fox-glove displaying his colours of pride:
She gazed on his form that in stateliness grew,
Aud envied his height, and his brilliant hue;

She mark'd how the flow'rets all gave way before him,

While they press'd ronnd her dwelling with far less decorum:

Dissatisfied, jealous, and peevish she grows,

And the sight of this Fox-glove destroys her repose.

She tires of her vesture, and swelling with spleen,

Cries, "Ne'er such a dowdy blue mantle was seen!"

Nor keeps to herself any longer her pain,
But thus to a Primrose begins to complain:

"I envy your mood, that can patient abide

"The respect paid that Fox-glove, his airs and his pride:
"There you sit, still the same, with your colourless cheek;
But you have no spirit-would I were as meek."

The Primrose good-humour'd replied, "If you knew
"More about him-remember I'm older than you,
"And, better instructed, can tell you his tale)—
"You'd envy him least of all flowers in the vale:
"With all his fine airs and his dazzling show,
"No blossom more baneful and odious can blow;
"And the reason that flow'rets before him give way
"Is because they all hate him and shrink from his sway.

"To stay near him long would be fading or death,
"For he scatters a pest with his venomous breath;

"While the flowers that you fancy are crowding you there,

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*This dial is said to have been formed by Linnæus. It marked the hours by the open

So might the days have been brightly told-ing and closing at regular intervals, of the Those days of song and dreams—

flowers arranged in it.

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NAY-do not wantonly destroy
That harmless Fly, my thoughtless boy!
Its buzzing hum that vexes thee,
Is but an idler's minstrelsy.
Unconscious of his threaten'd doom,
He gaily courses round the room;
Fearless alights upon thy book,
Nor dreads that irritated look ;
A gay voluptuary, he,
Devotes his life to revelry;
Anticipates no future ill,

But sips and gambols where he will:
Yet the same Power, who bade the sun
His daily course of glory run;

He, who sustains each rolling sphere,
And guides them in their vast career;
E'en to the lowly fly has given
To share with man the light of heaven.

Go, busy trifler! sport thine hour, Brief, though it be, as summer-flower!

The wintry blast that strips the tree,
Shall bring the closing hour to thee!
But, mark me, boy! the heedless fly
A useful lesson may supply;

Like him, the youth, who gives his day
To Pleasure's soft, insidious sway-
Voluptuous joys his only care-
Will find a lurking poison there;-
Too late shall mourn his wasted bloom,
And shroud his blossoms in the tomb !

THE SILK-WORM.

COWPER.

THE beams of April, ere it goes,
A worm, scarce visible disclose;
All winter long content to dwell
The tenant of his native shell.`
The same prolific season gives
The sustenance by which he lives,
The mulberry leaf, a simple store,
That serves him-till he needs no more!

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