That, drooping, clusters round

The tall and spiral stem,

Each one bedecked and broidered
With many a fairy gem:

Why Foxgloves are they hight?
They 're Fairy-caps, I ween-
Oft in the moony light

The elfin folk are seen

Trooping and frisking out,

With tiny silv'ry shout,

Forth to the circlet green:

And trumpet-notes, through woodbine florets blown,
Herald King Oberon, whose royal throne

Poised on a snow-white mushroom straight appears:
His retinue, well armed with keen grass spears,
Proud Foxglove helms, and daisy shields, stand round,
Like strange flowers, spell-called from the dew-bright ground.
Queen Mab and her gay fairy-maidens trace

A measure on the turf, with airy grace:
Their music the soft Harebell's silv'ry peals,

And distant rippling of the brook, that steals
Through the dim forest shade. Such fairies be,
Creatures of fancy, joy, and revelrie.

The green and graceful Fern,

How beautiful it is!

There's not a leaf in all the land

So wonderful, I wis.

Have ye ever watched it budding,

With each stem and leaf wrapped small,

Coiled up within each other

Like a round and hairy ball?

Have ye watched that ball unfolding
Each closely nestling curl,

And its fair and feathery leaflets

Their spreading forms unfurl?

Oh! then most gracefully they wave
In the forest, like a sea,

And dear as they are beautiful

Are those Fern leaves to me.

For all of early childhood

Those past and blessed years
To which we ever wistfully

Look back through memory's tears-
The sports and fancies then my own,
Those Fern-leaves dear and wild
Bring back to my delighted heart-
I am once more a child.

"Oh! cull the tallest, fairest branch,

My banner it shall be,

And twine a circlet for my brow,—

Crown me all royally:

A Foxglove sceptre my right hand

So gravely shall sustain:"

Oh! blessings on the bonnie Fern

I am a child again!