FLORA AND THALIA, 59 



THE FOXGLOVE 

 AND THE HAREBELL. 



In a valley obscure, on a bank of green shade, 

 A sweet little Harebell her dwelling had made ; 

 Her roof was a woodbine, that tastefully spread 

 Its close woven tendrils o'erarching her head ; 

 Her bed was of moss, that each morning made new ; 

 She dined on a sunbeam, and supp'd on the dew ; 

 Her neighbour, the nightingale, sung her to rest ; 

 And care had ne'er planted a thorn in her breast. 



One morning she saw, on the opposite side, 



A Foxglove displaying his colours of pride ; 



She gazed on his form that in stateliness grew, 



And envied his height, and his brilliant hue ; 



She mark'dhow the flow'rets all gave way before him. 



While they pressed round her dwelling with far less 



decorum. 

 Dissatisfied, jealous, and peevish, she grows, 

 And the sight of the Foxglove destroys her repose ; 



She tires of her vesture, and swelUng with spleen, 

 Cries, " Ne'er such a dowdy blue mantle was seen !" 



