Page:The Romance of Nature; or, The Flower-Seasons Illustrated.djvu/186

104 The human beauties of the land

Must sit for days and hours,

To let the painter's mimic hand

Each feature scan—but flowers,

They think, may just be drawn

As ignorance may like them;

Leaves snipt and shaped, like gauze or lawn,

As whim or fancy strike them.

E'en "Botanists" mistake my form

That's seen by brook and fountain,

For my rough cousin's, who's clad warm,

To dwell on moor and mountain.

But this I'd pardon, if the Bards'

And Poetasters' chorus

Were silenced once—we'll give rewards

To all who'll no more bore us.

That silly Lover, tumbling down

And drowning in the Rhine,

First set the jingle-makers on,

And then that book of thine,

Oh! Ackermann! like finger-post,

Directed sumphs to me,

And e'er since then, the buzzing host

Have dinned incessantly.