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exclaimed, as ſhe approached, ‘has the bloom of nature ſuch little charms for you, that you cannot employ yourſelf better than in tearing to pieces her earlieſt preſents, and profaning the feaſt of Flora? Is your heart ſo incapable of every ſoft and amiable affection, that neither the flowers of my garden, nor the blooming race of the virgins of my court, can make a tender impreſſion upon it? Why do you remain in this ſolitary arbour, when Joy is calling you aloud to yon feſtive hall, and Love ſmiles in every bloſſom, and peeps from all the ſocial bowers of this garden? But if your ſadneſs ſprings from the tender paſſion, make me acquainted with your ſecret pain, if perchance it lies within my power to ſatisfy the cravings of your heart.’ ‘Your ſagacity, diſcreet Zoe,’ replied Friedbert, ‘has pierced the receſſes of my ſoul: you judge very juſtly that a latent fire glows within my boſom: nor do I know, whether I ſhould feed