DAISY. 39 



Wordsworth and W. Browne seem to regard this 

 native plant with no less affection than the foregoing 



poets ; and as it is a flower that we have so fre- 

 quently gambled over in the sports of our infancy, 

 reclined among in the idle moments of our youth, 

 and trodden down in the days of our reflection, we 

 therefore cull this poetical garland of Daisies with a 

 view of reviving agreeable remembrances. 



The Daisy scattered on each meatle and downe, 

 A golden tufte within a silver croune ; 

 Fayre fall that dainty liowre ! and may there be 

 No shepherd graced that doth not honour thee ! 



In youth from rock to rock I went, 

 From hill to hill, in discontent, 

 Of pleasure high and turbulent, 



Most pleased when most uneasy ; 

 But now my own delights I make, 

 My thirst at every rill can slake, 

 And gladly Nature's love partake 



Of thee, sweet Daisy ! 



When soothed awhile by milder airs, 

 Thee Winter in the garland wears, 

 That thinly shades his few gray hairs, 



Spring cannot shun thee ; 

 Whole summer fields are thine by right, 

 And Autumn, melancholy wight, 

 Doth in thy crimson head delight 



When rains are on thee. 



In shoals and bands, a morrice train, 

 Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane ; 

 If welcomed once thou count'st it gain, 



