CELANDINE. 129 



Comfort have thou of thy merit, 

 Kindly, unassuming spirit ! 

 Careless of thy neighbourhood, 

 Thou dost show thy pleasant face 

 On the moor, and in the wood, 

 In the lane — there's not a place, 

 Howsoever mean it be, 

 But 'tis good enough for thee. 



Ill befall the yellow flowers. 

 Children of the flaring hours ! 

 Buttercups, that will be seen. 

 Whether we will see or no ; 

 Others, too, of lofty mien : 

 They have done as worldlings do, 

 Taken praise that should be thine. 

 Little, humble Celandine! 



Prophet of delight and mirth 

 Scorn'd and slighted upon earth! 

 Herald of a mighty band, 

 Oi^ a joyous train ensuing. 

 Singing at my heart's command, 

 In the lanes my thoughts pursuing, 

 I will sing, as doth behove, 

 Hymns in praise of what I love ! 



12* 



