THE DAISY. 17 



hands in the spring and playtime of the 

 year, when the villager went forth, with 

 all her train of little ones to seek for king 

 cups in the meadow, and to " prink their hair 

 with daisies." Shakspeare too, and Burns, 

 have spoken of it. Who has not read the 

 lament of Scotland's gifted son, when his 

 ploughshare turned up the modest crimson 

 flower, and laid its beauties in the dust? 

 Chaucer, the father of Enghsh poetry, he 

 who wrote of nature in those stormy times 

 when Hemy the Fourth and Richard battled 

 for the crown of England, loved to look 

 upon this lowly flower, to watch its unfold- 

 ings in the early morning, and its closings 

 up when night drew on. 



" Of all the floures in the mede, 

 Than love I most these floures of white and rede : 

 Such that men called Daisies iu our town ; 

 To them I have so great aiFection, 



c 



