THE BUR-MARIGOLD. Ill 



Into the story of this sun-loving and sun-worshipping flower I 

 must be permitted to frame Emerson's picture of the poet natu- 

 ralist, Thoreau: 



And such I knew, a forest seer, 



A minstrel of the natural year, 



Foreteller of the vernal ides, 



A lover true who knew by heart 



Each joy the mountain dales impart; 



It seemed that Nature could not raise 



A plant in any secret place, 



In quaking bog, on snowy hill, 



Beneath the grass that shades the rill, 



Under the snow, between the rocks, 



In damp fields known to bird and fox, 



But he would come in the very hour 



It opened in its virgin bower, 



As if a sunbeam showed the place, 



And tell its long-descended race. 



It seemed as if the breezes brought him ; 



It seemed as if the sparrows taught him; 



As if by secret sight he knew 



Where in far fields the orchis grew. 



Many haps fall in the field 



Seldom seen by wishful eyes, 



But all her shows did Nature yield, 



To please and win this pilgrim wise. 



He trod the unplanted forest floor, whereon 



The alluring sun for ages hath not shone; 



He saw beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, 



The slight Linnaea hang its twin-born heads, 



And blessed the monument of the man of flowers, 



Which breathes his sweet fame through the northern bowers. 



