HEATHER LAYS. 



The Heather 



Though with the rose's flaring crimson dye 



The heath flower's modest blossom ne'er can vie, 



Nor to the bland caresses of the gale 



Of morn, like her, expand the purple veil, 



The swain, who 'mid her fragrance finds repose, 



Prefers her tresses to the gaudy rose, 



And bids the wild bee, her companion come 



To soothe his slumbers with her airy hum. 



Sweet, modest flower, in lonely deserts dun 

 Retiring still for converse with the sun, 

 Whose sweets invite the soaring lark to stoop 

 And from thy cells the buried dew-drop scoop 

 Though unobtrusive all thy beauties shine 

 Yet boast thou rival of the purple vine! 

 For once thy mantling juice was seen to laugh 

 In pearly cups, which monarchs loved to quaff; 

 And frequent waked the wild inspired lay 

 On Teviot's hills beneath the Pictish sway. 



Ley den. 



Scotland 



The glowing furze, the "bonny broom," 



The thistle, and the heather; 

 The blue-bell and the gowan fair, 

 Which childhood likes to gather. 



Robert Chambers. 

 215 



