12 BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 



The sweet songs of the vineyards and the bees, 

 Fell lullingly upon the soothed ear ; 

 And nightingales among the orange trees, 

 Piping their gurgling notes so soft and clear, 

 The old and the young came from the fields to hear: 

 Some gathered flowers by the meadow side — 

 Of bright and beautiful there was no dearth — 

 Or picked up daisies, which they strove to hide, 

 Then threw at each other, gay with mirth, 

 Or planted garlands for the nymphs, who loved them from their birth.* 



If the grass is so beautiful, then, and mingled with so many asso- 

 ciations of story and song, why not have it always beside us, and pass 

 our lives amongst its green ? Why pine away in smoky towns in 

 jarring discord, where the heart is bound round with an icy chain of 

 conventionalities, and the soul, stripped of her beauty, is reduced to 

 rags ? Let us live beside the grass, under the blue canopy of heaven, 

 where the morning sun may greet us with his fire, and the midnight 

 stars rain down their benedictions of beauty. Let us have the grass 

 for a companion, and the wild bee and butterfly for friends. Let us 

 dwell where the cataract leaps from the rocky height, and the rainbow 

 arch beats down the thunder ; in the wide wilderness, where blossoms 

 wave, and leafy trees sing anthems to the moon ; on the bleak moor, 

 where the black-cock sails along the heathery steeps ; or by the 

 margin of the river, where the otter plunges for his prey, and 

 strange birds anchor themselves beside the islands green ; or wherever 

 grass grows and beautifies the earth, for where its leaves rustle 

 is beauty and solace ; where its silken plumes nod in the air, is plenty ; 

 and wherever its tender shoots pierce through the clods, there is 

 home, there is society, there is love. Did old Spenser long for some 

 green solitude — a "lodge in some vast wilderness," or did he wish 

 to dwell — 



In a little island 



Covered with shrubby woods, in which no way 



Appear'd for people in or out to pass, 



Nor any footii^ fynde for ouergrowen grass, t 



Such should have been his home, and amid the leafy garniture 



* Longus — Pastoral, The Shepherd's Spring. 

 t Faerie Queen, B. vi., c. 11. 



