8 MEADOW SAFFRON. 



coming storms. The meadow saffron is one 

 of tliese. And who, that has a heart to 

 feel, can contemplate this orphan flower, 

 thus rising amid cold winds, and beneath 

 cloudy skies, to clothe our meads with beauty, 

 without a feeling of commiseration for the 

 apparently defenceless flower ? 



Methinks a voice thus answers low, 

 By IlollweH's deep and silent flow, 

 For not another sound is heard, 

 From wandering bee or joyous bird. 

 And far and wide, o'er dale and hiU, 

 Deep Silence holds her vigils still. 

 list my words, vain erring man ! 

 For thus the gentle voice began. 

 Who thinks, because the sun is low, 

 And deep and dark the torrents flow, 

 And summer's last lov'd rose is gone, 

 And warbling birds from dale or burn. 

 That I, a lone and orphan flower, 

 Child of this drear, and joyless hour, 



