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Her buds and leaves to dress fictitious powers, With the green olive shades Minerva's helm, And gives to Beauty's Queen, the Queen of flowers. But what gay blossoms of luxuriant Spring. With rose, mimosa, amaranth entwin'd, Shall fabled Sylphs, and fairy people bring, As a just emblem of the lovely mind? In vain the mimic pencil tries to blend The glowing dyes that dress the flowery race, Scented and colour'd by an hand divine! Ah! not less vainly would the Muse pretend On her weak lyre, to sing native grace And native goodness of a foul like thine! |
