« PreviousContinue »
Those leaves, alas! no more would close;
Relaxed, exhausted, sickening, pale; They left her to a parent's woes,
And fled before the rising gale.
Come, let us leave this painted plain;
This waste of flowers that palls the eye: The walks of Nature's wilder reign
Shall please in plainer majesty.
This is a species of the Orchis, which is found in the barten and mountainous parts of Lincolnshire, Worcestershire, Kent and
Through those fair scenes, where yet she owes
Superior charms to Brockman's art, Where, crowned with elegant repose,
He cherishes the social heart
Through those fair scenes we'll wander wild,
And on yon pastured mountains rest; Come, brother dear! come, Nature's child!
With all her simple virtues blest.
The sun far-seen on distant towers,
And clouding groves and peopled seas, And ruins pale of princely bowers On BeachBOROUGH's airy heights shall
Hertfordshire. Nature has formed a Bee apparently feeding on the breast of the flower with so much oxactness, that it is impossible, at a very small distance, to distinguish the imposition. For this purpose she has observed an economy different from what is found in most other flowers, and has laid the petals horizon.
Nor lifeless there the lonely scene;
The little labourer of the hive, From flower to flower, from green to green,
Murmurs, and makes the wild alive.
See, on that flowrets velvet breast,
How close the busy vagrant lies! His thin-wrought plume, his downy breast,
Th' ambrosial gold that swells his thighs!
Regardless, whilst we wander near,
Thrifty of time, his task he plies; Or sees he no intruder near?
And rest in sleep his weary eyes?
tally. The genus of the Orchis, or Satyrion, she seems professedly to have made use of for her paintings, and on the different species has drawn the perfect forms of different insects, such as Bees, Flies, Butterflies, &c.
Perhaps his fragrant load may bind
His limbs;-we'll set the captive freeI sought the living Bee to find,
And found the picture of a Bee.
Attentive to our trifling selves,
From thence we plan the rule of all; Thus NATURE with the fabled elves
We rank, and these her Sports we call.
Be far, my friends, from you, from me,
Th'unhallowed term, the thought profane, That Life's MAJESTIC SOURCE may be
In idle Fancy's trifling vein.
Remember still, 'tis Nature's plan
Religion in your love to find; And know, for this, she first in man
Inspired the imitative mind.