Thou may'st be met on each open moor, 'Mong gorse and ling, Thou common thing! Thy paltry blossoms the children poor, Bound up in bundles to sweep the street; We have been bred up with tenderest care; Are shielded from winds, and frosts, and storms; How can ye see Our stately pride, yet boldly dare, Presumptuously, To raise your heads of humble name With us, who have titles, and rank, and fame? WILD HEATHER. Buds of the mountain and moor are we, The lark upsprings On her dewy wings, From our sheltering sprays to the sky upborne, And, soaring, sings Her love for the wild and purple Heather, Where her callow nestlings lie safe together. Glorious, and glad, and dear are we, And our heads advance, Their innocent hands to gift and greet; For childhood's glance, When playmates laugh merrily out together, In our freedom we scorn such slaves as ye, Ours be the grandeur, and ours the glee, For we o'er the hills and the heaths wave free. To meaner things, though in gaudier vests. Merrily round us the streamlet flow; And the promise-toned hum of the busy bee, Seems a harvest song Of joy, for the sweets that from flower and tree, And the honeyed bells of the purple Heather, Ye are sheltered, ye say, from the blights of even; For eve's gentle dew, and morn's bright beam, Have ye not fires, and stoves, and steam? And while we quaff gaily our Summer rain, A few stagnant drops your lives sustain: And while we are kissed and rocked by the breeze, Ye stand erect in your palaces; Each ranged in his special rank and place Holding proudly on high his titled face. Yet ye are the beings would smile in scorn At our claims-at " things on the wild heath born;" Your dwellings, ye idlers, would soon look dim, A breath of your sweets on his downy wing- Ye have nought he would condescend to steal- Your rank and state, Ye little great; Ours is a prouder and happier lot A nobler fate; For we live in gladness and love together, We fearless flowers of the mountain Heather! THE FLOWER AND THE FAIRY. I do wander every where, Swifter than the moone's sphere, And I serve the Fairy Queen, SHAKSPEARE. And that same dew, which sometimes on the buds IBID. A FAIRY, whose task was to dwell upon earth, And height'ning the beauty of Summer flowers, As the little buds oped to the dews and showers, Aweary grew Of each tint and hue That so long she had gazed on through days and hours. And the Fairy threw Around o'er the garden a wistful gaze, That rested on bower, and bank, and maze; And the flowers replied, In echoes of fragrance, that fanned along Into stillness and calm o'er the garden wide, |