Clytie, or the Sun-Flower

How many absent now, more fair than these, With greater fragrance in lone valleys blow? Or, if the garden’s flow’ry tribe more please, Where do the Rose and lovely Vi’let glow?

The Lily where, and all that num’rous host, Who claim true praise to innate virtue due; Or do they merit least who loudest boast, And with false glare impose upon the view?

For sure, of all who feel my genial gale, Or to the sun their fragrant breasts unfold, The best and sweetest that on earth prevail, Yet do I not in this fair court behold.

He said; and FLORA, rising from her throne, Bade present search for ev’ry one be made: Who, though their off’rings on her altar shone, Their modest haste had from the court convey’d.

Strait they return’d:—The lovely blushing Rose, The Lily ever chaste and ever fair, The Vi’let sweet with purple tints that glows, And Myrtle green, that scents the ambient air:

With many more, grateful to sight and smell, By bounteous heav’n with matchless charms endu’d; That in the fragrant meads or gardens dwell, Or which wild wastes from human eyes seclude.

These by their Genii now in modest guise, Excus’d from pleading ’midst the mingled throng. Claim’d but the tribute all allow’d their prize, Nor sought their own just praises to prolong.

Yet, these once seen, abash’d their rivals stand; And would have fled, but FLORA this deny’d; Who, rising graceful, with her out-stretch’d hand, Thus briefly to th’ assembled pow’rs apply’d:

“Genii of gardens, meads, and sylvan scenes, Attendant still in FLORA’S vernal train, Say what this ardent, fond contention means, Why strive you thus for pow’r, and strive in vain?

Are you not all beneath our sceptre blest; Say, do not all confess our gentle sway? Then seek not one to triumph o’er the rest, But each in peaceful order still obey.

So all the glories of my reign shall share, So all be still in poets songs renown’d, So shall my ZEPHYR still with gentlest air, Wave o’er your beds, with bloom eternal crown’d.

And you, who not for pow’r, but beauty’s charms, For gaudy tints, still fiercely would contend; What envious fire such gentle bosoms warms? And where, alas! must the mad contest end?

Each has her charms, and each peculiar worth, To all in various portions duly giv’n, By secret Nature working at its birth, The lavish bounty of indulgent Heav’n.

Each has her charms:—but view the blushing Rose, Behold the beauties of the Lily fair; Few boast of equal excellence to those, Yet with their modest merit none compare.

These, therefore, we prefer; and though no Queen Besides Ourselves we will to hold the reign; Yet, for their true desart conspicuous seen, We rank them foremost on the flow’ry plain.

Hear, and obey; and if aught else abide, To raise dispute among your orders bright; Still by true merit let the cause be try’d, And specious shew yield to more solid right.”

She spoke;—the Seasons, and the winged Hours, Confirm’d her voice; then breath’d a rich perfume, Which ZEPHYR scatter’d wide o’er all the flow’rs, And deck’d their leaves with more than mortal bloom.

Then, his lov’d consort straining in his arms, With gentlest touch salutes her swelling breast; Who strait shone forth in more refulgent charms, As JUNO when by vernal JOVE caress’d.

And sudden joining in a mazy dance, The airy phantoms of the scene appear’d; Some to the sprightly timbrel did advance, While some their clear harmonious voices rear’d.

But One among the rest, who view’d me stand Intent, and gazing on the prospect near, Came forth, and gently touch’d my trembling hand, And bade me mark his words, and nothing fear:

“And seest thou not (said he) these vary’d flow’rs, Contending still for beauty or for sway? Such are the contests which employ man’s hours, In life’s short, busy, transitory day.

For what is gaudy beauty’s short-liv’d bloom, The pomp of pow’r, of riches, or of pride; Soon bury’d in the undistinguish’d tomb, Which all their boasted pomp at once must hide?

VIRTUE alone survives, immortal maid! Her truly amaranthine flow’r shall blow, When all the rest are wrapt in dusky shade, And laid in dark and dusty ruins low.

Hear, and attend!—improve the moral strain, So may’st thou sail safe through life’s dang’rous sea; So from these scenes thou wisdom may’st attain, And FLORA prove MINERVA’S self to thee.”

He ceas’d; and well I mark’d the prudent lore, And much revolv’d his saying in my mind; Bent all the mystic moral to explore, By this romantic, splendid scene design’d.

But, the full concert swelling on my ear, The bands of Sleep dissolv’d, away he flies; At once the train of phantoms disappear, And on my waking sight the vision dies.

No longer now near FLORA’S bow’r I stood, But view’d with op’ning eyes the rising day; Then down the Valley fair my path pursu’d, And homeward took my solitary way.