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“If war my peaceful realms assail,

“And then, unmoved by pity's call, “ I smile to see the bleeding vale,

“Or feel one joy in nature's fall.

“ Then may each justly vengeful flower

“Pursue her Queen with generous strife, Nor leave the hand of lawless power "Such compass on the scale of life.

“One simple virtue all my pride!

“ The wish that flies to misery's aid; “ The balm that stops the crimson tide*,

“ And heals the wounds that war has made."

The property of that flower.

Their free consent by Zephyrs borne,

The flowers their Meadow's Queen obey; And fairer blushes crowned the morn,

And sweeter fragrance filled the day,

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“Why loves my flower, the sweetest flower

“ That swells the golden breast of May, “ Thrown rudely o'er this ruined tower,

“ To waste her solitary day?

“Why, when the mead, the spicy vale,

“The grove and genial garden call, “Will she her fragrant soul exhale,

“Unheeded on the lonely wall?

For never sure was beauty born

“ To live in death's deserted shade! “Come, lovely flower, my banks adorn,

“My banks for life and beauty made.”

Thus Pity waked the tender thought,

And by her sweet persuasion led, To seize the hermit-flower I sought,

And bear her from her stony bed.

I sought--but sudden on mine ear

A voice in hollow murmurs broke, And smote my heart with holy fear

The Genius of the Ruin spoke.

“ From thee be far th'ungentle deed,

“ The honours of the dead to spoil, “ Or take the sole remaining meed,

“ The flower that crowns their former toil!

“ Nor deem that flower the garden's foe,

“Or fond to grace this barren shade; « 'Tis NATURE tells her to bestow

“ Her honours on the lonely dead.

“ For this, obedient Zephyrs bear

“ Her light seeds round yon turret's mold, “And undispersed by tempests there,

They rise in vegetable gold.

“ Nor shall thy wonder wake to see

« Such desart scenes distinction crave; “ Oft they have been, and oft shall be

“Truth's, Honour's, Valour's, Beauty's grave.

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