So, whilst some treasur'd plant receives
Th' admiring florist's partial show'r,
The drops that tremble from its leaves
Oft feed some near uncultur'd flow'r.

For late connubial Fondness hung
Mute o'er the couch where Pollio lay;
Love, Hope, and Sorrow, fixed her tongue,
Thro' sable night till morning grey.

There, too, by drooping Pollio's side,
Stood Modesty, a mourner meek,
Whilst Genius, mov'd by grief and pride,
Increas'd the blush which grac'd her cheek;

For much the maiden he reprov'd
For having spread her veil of snow
Upon the mind he form'd and lov'd,
Till she was seen to mourn it too.

O Health! when thou art fled, how vain
The witchery of earth and skies,
Love's look, or music's sweetest strain,
Or Ocean's softest lullabies!

Oh! ever hover near his bow'r,
There let thy fav'rite sylphs repair;
Fence it with ev'ry sweet-lipp'd flow'r,
That Sickness find no entrance there.