In awful strains sublime;
IX.
“Fond youth, who view’st that beauteous flow’r,
“So luckless in thy fight!
“Forbear to mourn her lonely state,
“Whom these rude climes delight.
X.
“Unrival’d here she sweetly blooms,
“And scents the ambient air;
“Nor deems her brightest beauties lost,