"From giant Oaks, that wave their branches dark, To the dwarf Moss, that clings upon their bark, What Beaux and Beauties crowd the gaudy groves, And woo and win their vegetable Loves. How Snowdrops cold, and blue-eyed Harebels blend Their tender tears, as o’er the stream they bend; The lovesick Violet, and the Primrose pale Bow their sweet heads, and whisper to the gale; With secret sighs the Virgin Lily droops, And jealous Cowslips hang their tawny cups. How the young Rose in beauty’s damask pride Drinks the warm blushes of his bashful bride; With honey’d lips enamour’d Woodbines meet, Clasp with fond arms, and mix their kisses sweet.— Stay thy soft-murmuring waters, gentle Rill; Hush, whispering Winds, ye ruflling Leaves, be still; Rest, silver Butterflies, your quivering wings; Alight, ye Beetles, from your airy rings; Ye painted Moths, your gold-eyed plumage furl, Bow your wide horns, your spiral trunks uncurl; Glitter, ye Glow-worms, on your mossy beds; Descend, ye Spiders, on your lengthen’d threads; Slide here, ye horned Snails, with varnish’d shells; Ye Bee-nymphs, listen in your waxen cells!— Bᴏᴛᴀɴɪᴄ Mᴜsᴇ! who in this latter age Led by your airy hand the Swedish sage, Bad his keen eye your secret haunts explore On dewy dell, high wood, and winding shore; Say on each leaf how tiny Graces dwell; How laugh the Pleasures in a blossom’s bell; How insect Loves arise on cobweb wings, Aim their light shafts, and point their little stings."