The pride of every grove I chose The violet sweet and lily fair, The dappled pink, and blushing rose, To deck my charming Chloe’s hair. At morn the nymph vouchsaf’d to place Upon her brow the various wreath; The flowers less blooming than her face, The scent less fragrant than her breath. The flowers she wore along the day, And every nymph and shepherd said, That in her hair they looked more gay Than glowing in their native bed. Undrest at evening, when she found Their odour lost, their colours past, She changed her look, and on the ground Her garland and her eye she cast. The eye dropt sense distinct and clear, As any muse’s tongue could speak, When from its lid a pearly tear Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek. Dissembling what I knew too well, “My love, my life,” said I, “explain This change of humour; pr’ythee tell: That falling tear--what does it mean?” She sighed; she smil’d; and, to the flowers Pointing, the lovely moralist said, “See, friend, in some few fleeting hours See yonder, what a change is made! “Ah, me! the blooming pride of May, And that of beauty are but one, At morn both flourish bright and gay; Both fade at evening, pale and gone. “At dawn poor Stella danc’d and sung; The amorous youth around her bowed, At night her fatal knell was rung; I saw and kissed her in her shroud. “Such as she is, who died to-day; Such I, alas! may be to-morrow; Go, Damon, bid thy muse display The justice of thy Chloe’s sorrow.” Prior. A beautiful ode by another of our poets graces the loveliness of the season, and finally “points a moral” of sovereign virtue to all who need the application, and will take it to heart.

The Garland Monologue from Every Man in His Humour

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