HAWTHORN. 189 



" In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, 

 While through the ice the crimson berries glow." 



There is a beautiful address to the Hawthorn in the 

 poems of Ronsard. The following version *, which is from 

 the pen of the Rev. Mr. Cary, is so faithful, and so happy, 

 that the French poet will suffer no injustice if we quote the 

 translation only : 



" Fair hawthorn flowering, 



"With green shade bowering 

 Along this lovely shore ; 

 To thy foot around 

 With his long arms wound 

 A wild vine has mantled thee o'er. 



" In armies twain, 



Red ants have ta'en 

 Their fortress beneath thy stock : 



And in clefts of thy trunk 



Tiny bees have sunk 

 A cell where honey they lock. 



" In merry spring- tide, 



When to woo his bride 

 The nightingale comes again, 



Thy boughs among 



He warbles his song, 

 That lightens a lover's pain. 



" 'Mid thy topmost leaves 



His nest he weaves 

 Of moss and the satin fine, 



Where his callow brood 



Shall chirp at their food, 

 Secure from each hand but mine. 



" Gentle hawthorn, thrive, 



And, for ever alive, 

 Mayst thou blossom as now in thy prime ; 



* See " Notices of the Early French Poets," in the London Maga- 

 zine, vol. v. p. 511. 



