How far the Author of the following Fables, written for the amusement of an exalted Personage, may have succeeded, in descriptive fancy, as a poet: it is hoped, that, the moral and refined admonitions which may be found to breathe, from the fragrant bosom of a silver-robed Lily, or a blooming Jonquil, will throw a veil over any poetical inaccuracies; _for who can paint like Nature?_
As to the novelty of the plan, I cannot but hold myself, in a great measure, indebted to an ingenious Lady[1], well known in the literary world. And can only say, that I have found both health and recreation in the completion of it; by sharing some of the sweetest hours of contemplation, among the lovely subjects of the following pages.
[1] The author of The Vizlis: or Enchanted Labyrinth; an Oriental Tale, 3 Vols.—Wherein describes with great taste and fancy, the different passions that are subject to misguide the warm and expanded imagination, of Youth by the Flowers they make choice of in the Labyrinth.
FABLE I. The Hollyhock and Lily of the Vale 24
VIII. The Anemone and the Passion Flower 64
XVIII. The Nasturtium and the Wall Flower 113
XXI. The Crown Imperial and Hearts Ease 129
XXIII. The Funeral Flowers and the Lover 137
XXVI. The Cockscomb and Sweet William 153
XXVIII. The Carnation and Southernwood 161
As late I wander’d o’er the flow’ry plain, Where Cambrian Cluyd pours his silver tide, Amidst the pleasures of fair Plenty’s reign, And blushing flow’rs and fruits on ev’ry side:
Soft sigh’d the west winds, murm’ring o’er the dale, Whose ev’ry charm rose fresher from the breeze; The lofty hills more boldly kiss’d the gale, Which skimm’d their tops, and shook the wavy trees.
The sun descending, shot his golden beams Askance, with many a cloud his ev’ning throne Adorn’d; while mountains, woods, and lucent streams, With the last blushes of his radiance shone.
Far stretching hence, Cambria’s rough heights I view, Where Liberty long since forlorn retir’d, Left fairer climes, and skies of brighter hue, And, but at last, triumphantly expir’d:
And wide around me wound the fertile vale[2], Fit theme and subject of the poet’s song; Whose num’rous beauties load the passing gale, Whose breath repeats them, as it glides along.