50 FAVOURITE FABLES.

High priest of Flora you might call him ;
Nor less was he the favourite of Pomona.
But one day, walking,
He found it dull; and should some ill befall him,
In his sweet paradise, he felt alone,—Ah!
For neither rose, nor pink, nor vine,
Except in such a lay as mine, —
Are given to talking.
His head old Time had now long years heaped many on;
So he resolved to look for some companion.

On this important expedition—
But fearing his researches would be vain—
The sage departed:
Revolving deeply his forlorn condition,
He slowly mused along a narrow lane;
When on a sudden—unawares—
A nose met his :—it was the Bear’s!
With fright he started.
Fear is a common feeling: he that wise is,
Although his fright be great, his fear disguises.

Prudence suggested—“ Stand your ground;
’Tis hard to turn, and harder still to dash on.’’
Prudence prevails.
’Twixt kindred minds a sympathy is found
Which lights up oft at sight a tender passion,