210 A BUNCH OF HERBS. 



dashing the road-sides with tints of purple and gold, 

 he found them scentless also. " Where are your fra- 

 grant flowers ? " he might well say. " I can find none." 

 Let him look closer and penetrate our forests, and 

 visit our ponds and lakes. Let him compare our 

 matchless, rosy-lipped, honey-hearted trailing arbutus 

 with his own ugly ground-ivy (Nepeta Glechoma) ; let 

 him compare our sumptuous fragrant pond-lily with 

 his own odorless N. alba. In our Northern woods 

 he shall find the floors carpeted with the delicate 

 Linnaea, its twin rose-colored, nodding flowers filling 

 the air with fragrance. (I am aware that the Linnaea 

 is found in some parts of Northern Europe.) The 

 fact is, we perhaps have as many sweet-scented wild 

 flowers as Europe has, only they are not quite so 

 prominent in our flora, and so well known to our 

 people or to our poets. 



Think of Wordsworth's " Golden Daffodils " : 



"I wandered lonely as a cloud 



That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

 When, all at once, I saw a crowd, 



A host of golden daffodils, 

 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 



" Continuous as the stars that shine 

 And twinkle on the milky way, 

 They stretched in never-ending line 



Along the margin of a bay. 

 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 

 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance." 



No such sight could greet the poet's eye here 



