Heath (Ericacece.) [No. 14 



A LEGEND OF THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 



A sweet old legend drifts and ever drifts, 



In lines and rhymes, amid these breaths of spring. 



I hear it in the voice of tinkling brooks 



Set free but now from winter's gorgon spell ; 



I hear it in a herald bluebird's notes, 



And where a bee goes humming by in search 



Of early flowers (steer well, small ship ; 



Sail not too near the reefs of lingering snow) ; 



I see it in the yellow aments soft 



And pendulous from unleaved alder boughs ; 



In softest shadows, too, of deepening green 



On southward slopes with sheltered nooks between. 



Far off in Eden's pleasant bowers, 



By grace of God a flower was born, 

 Whose pride of leaf and pride of bloom 



Could even Eden's bowers adorn. 



Its lightly clustered petals seemed 



A tinted fragrance when they bloomed ; 



Its wealth of leaves in texture firm 

 A look of queenly robes assumed. 



The flower was deemed the queen of all 



The flowers that Eve and Adam kept. 

 With all the flowers it drooped and mourned 



When Eve and Adam sinned and wept. 



They wept at thought of sin and loss, 



They wept at thought of banishment, 

 They turned them to their lovely flowers 



Ere forth to toil they weeping went. 



Then none of all that blooming band 



Of lovely Eden flowers did aught 

 But droop and mourn till they bethought ; 



And straightway Him, the Master, sought^ 



Of Him they humbly prayed that they 

 With Eve and Adam forth might go, 



