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THE BOWER OF MELISSA.
Twas when the zephyr's breath had wak'd the flowers,
And May with blossoms deck'd her vernal bowers,
An aged monarch held his gentle reign,
Why droops,' he cried, 'my brother and my friend,' * Though full in view immortal fame ascend?' • The brave of ev'ry clime the prize contest; • But no base fears invade that noble breast; * For nurs'd in arms, and bred to hardy fight, * Thy sport is war, and danger thy delight. • Yet dost thou droop! Thy secret wound explain,
Or do I boast the name of friend in vain ?' * And will not Cadwall,' Paladour replied, • The fond distresses of my heart deride ?
Cadwall, unknowing of love's soft alarms, * And kindling only at the sound of arms ?
Yet not on choice, but unresisted fate, * Depends the various colour of our state; • Thou by th’ Almighty will to fame impellid, .' Thy friend in love's inglorious bondage held. • Know then that, once, beneath the beechen shade, ? Tir'd with the chace my fainting limbs I laid.
Sudden the rustling boughs invade my ear,