HYACINTH. 11 9 



every body knows that the Hyacinth flowers with 

 sapphire-coloured purple, crimson, flesh, and white 

 bells, but a Blue Martagon will be sought for in vain. 

 The English Hyacinth, Nutans, or Nun Scrlp- 

 tus, commonly called the Harebell, has scarcely been 

 less celebrated by our native poets than that of the 

 ancients by their fables. It is hardly possible 

 for a person of poetical imagination to pass our 

 sloping hedge-rows when covered with the azure 

 bells of this native Hyacinth, mixed, as they gene- 

 rally are, with the delicate colour of the Primrose, 

 without having their ideas softened into song, when 

 they 



Behold the woody scene 



Deck'd with a thousand flowers of grace divine. 



Andreini. 



Milton says, 



I know each lane and every alley green, 

 Dingle or bushy dell, of this wild wood, 

 And every bosky bourn from side to side, 

 My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood. 



Comus. 



Mrs. Charlotte Smith, who spent her youth at 

 Eio-nor Park, one of the most romantic and beauti- 

 ful spots beneath the Sussex Downs, tells us — 



In the lone copse, or shadowy dell, 

 Wild clustered knots of Harebells blow. 



For this sweet spot we may justly borrow the 

 lines of Milton, calling it 



