184 WILD FLOWERS. 



Whose writhing form meridian heat defies, 

 Bends o'er his work, and every sinew tries ; 

 Prostrates the waving treasure at his feet, 

 But spares the rising clover, short and sweet. 

 Come HertJth, ! come Jollity ! light-footed, come ; 

 Here hold your revels, and make this your home." 



BLOOMFIELD. 



. Now a/iain for HOWITT'S rich prose : 



1 'What a fragrance comes floating on the 

 gale from the clover in the standing grass ; from 

 the new-mown hay ; and from these sycamore 

 trees, with all their pendant flowers. It is deli- 

 cious ; and yet one cannot help regretting that 

 the year has advanced so far. Here, the wild 

 rose is putting out ; the elder is already in 

 flower ; they are all beautiful, but saddening 

 siefns of the swift- winged time. Let us sit down 

 by this little stream, and enjoy the pleasantness 

 that it presents, without a thought of the future. 

 Ah ! this sweet place is just in its pride. The 

 flags have sprung thickly in the bed of the 

 brook, and their yellow flowers are beginning 

 to show themselves. The green locks of the 

 water ranunculuses are lifted by the stream, and 

 their flowers form snowy islands on the surface ; 



