WILD FLOWERS. 179 



scented valley, more redolent of real sweetness 

 than the perfume-laden halls of luxury ?" 



" I know a brook that all the livelong day 

 Babbles the silence of a vale away, 

 With gurgle, gurgle, for its ceaseless song ; 

 Many a hermit flower is found along 

 Its mossy banks some deep secluded, where 

 None knew their being, save the prying air, 

 That is their faithless confident, and tells 

 The fragrant sighs he heard within their cells. 

 Some, less retired, bent vainly o'er the brook, 

 For their sweet image in its mirror look ', 

 A broken reflex in the water-glass 

 Is all they find they gaze they hope alas ! 

 They die despairing, amorous of themselves ! 

 Why still ye not the waters, sylphs and elves ! 

 And let me, in my lonely musing walk, 

 Hear a wild blossom to its beauty talk ? 



" What would it say ? delight and purity 

 And music, surely would its language be 

 To its sweet rival-self within the stream 

 Alas ! this minds me of a long-fled dream ! 



J. A. WADE. 



A dream, doubtless, of vanished beauty of a 

 light that is quenched of fragrance wasted 

 upon the air ! but let us on in our sweet quest, 

 listing, as we go, to the words of the lately 



