A FABLE .

A R OSE-TREE , wet with early dew,
Which breath'd her fragrance to the morn,
Around her cast a haughty view,
And deeper blush'd her flow'rs with scorn:

For Passions, long to man confin'd,
Now warm the meanest shrub we see;
Then angry waving to the wind
Thus spoke the Dryad of the tree:

" Queen as I am, the garden's boast,
" The first in beauty as in fame,
" From hence to Persia's distant coast,
" Known o'er an hundred realms my name.

" Shall I beside yon' vulgar leaf
(A Rhubarb flourish'd near the tree)
" Shall I — she cry'd in angry grief,
" Breathe near so coarse a plant as he?

" A drug, at best, the root it claims,
" Unseemly to the taste and eye:
" While scarce Circassia's brightest dames
" Dare with my morning blossoms vie. "

" Forbear " — the Rhubarb mildly cried,
Unmov'd at scorn so weak and vain;
" Forbear the vauntings of thy pride,
" And mark yon storm that beats the plain;

" When here its vengeful track shall sweep,
" Strong from its pow'r my plant shall grow;
" Whilst all thy boasted charms shall weep,
" And scatter'd leaves shall speak thy woe. "

The clouds contending torrents pour;
Till ev'ning came the tempest rag'd,
The tree low drooping to the show'r,
No more the angry contest wag'd.

One bud beneath the Rhubarb's care
Alone uninjur'd rais'd her head:
So after sickness blooms the fair,
The storms of pain and anguish fled.

" Alas! " with humbler voice it cried,
" The leaf I scorn'd has lent me aid. "
Then view'd her sister flow'rs and sigh'd,
And grateful hail'd the Rhubarb's shade.