A FIELD FLOWER. ON FINDING ONE IN FULL BLOOM, ON CHRISTMAS DAY, 1803. THERE is a flower, a little flower, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field Race after race their honours yield, But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, The purple heath and golden broom, On moory mountains catch the galę, O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale. But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox's den. Within the garden's cultured round The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, 'Tis FLORA's page:-in every place, In every season fresh and fair, It opens with perennial grace, On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The Rose has but a summer-reign, The DAISY never dies. THE SNOW-DROP. WINTER, retire! Thy reign is past; Hoary Sire! Yield the sceptre of thy sway, Sound thy trumpet in the blast, And call thy storms away; Wherefore do thy wheels delay? Mount the chariot of thine ire, And quit the realms of day; On thy state Whirlwinds wait; And blood-shot meteors lend thee light; Hence to dreary arctic regions Hence to caves of northern night Speed thy flight. From halcyon seas And purer skies, O southern breeze! Awake, arise: Breath of heaven! benignly blow, Melt the snow; Breath of heaven! unchain the floods, Warm the woods, And make the mountains flow. Auspicious to the Muse's prayer, The freshening gale Embalms the vale, And breathes enchantment through the air: |