THE YOUNG NATUEALIST 



199 



Then the laverock frae the blue lift 

 Draps down and thinks nae shame, 



To woo his bonnie lassie 

 When the kye comes hame." 



Then in sober prose he says, " There's 

 the daisy, naebody cares muckle abooi 

 the daisy, till you ask them, and then 

 they say they hae aye liked it, and 

 quote Burns. Noo naebody tires o' 

 the daisy. A' the warld would be 

 sorry gin a' the daisies were deid." 

 It must be conferred that the daisy is 

 somewhat of a laggard, as it is gener- 

 ally eight o'clock before it awakes, and 

 it has retired to rest by five in the 

 afternoon ; but much depends upon 

 the brightness of the day and the 

 amount of moisture in the atmosphere. 

 It is only during the first three or 

 four days of their expansion that the 

 daisy petals exhibit this mode of motion, 

 but the immense number and constant 

 succession of flowers makes the effect 

 very striking in a pasture-field. Space 

 would fail to enumerate all the beau- 

 teous passages from the poets about 

 " the daisy pied " as Shakspeare calls 

 it. One stanza only from what I may 

 call our national song, and sordid and 

 seared must be the heart in which it 

 fails to revive the memories and asso- 

 ciations of youth. Picture the meeting 

 of the two old schoolmates, the 

 hearty grasp of the hand, and the 

 electric thrill of sympathy at the 

 words, — 



" We twa hae run aboot the braes 

 And pu'd the gowans fine, 



But we've wandered mony a weary fit 

 Sin the days o' auld lang syne." 



Only one more quotation from the 

 same gifted bard, which for true pathos 

 has never been excelled, if ever equalled, 

 in the lyric poetry of any country or 

 any age : — 



" To a mountain daisy, on turning 

 one down with the plough, April, 

 1786. 



Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 

 Thou's met me in an evil hour, 

 For I maun crush amang the stoure, 



Thy slender stem ; 

 To save thee now is past my power, 



Thou bonnie gem, 



Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 

 The bonnie lark companion meet, 

 Bending thee mang the dewy weet, 



Wi' speckled breast. 

 When upward springing, blithe to greet 



The purplin' east. 



Cauld blew the bitter biting north 

 Upon thy early humble birth. 

 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 



Amid the storm, 

 Scarce reared above the parent earth 



Thy tender form. 



The flaunting flowers our gardens yield. 

 High sheltering woods and wa's maun 

 shield ; 



But thou, beneath the random bield 



O' clod or stane. 

 Adorns the histie stibble-field 



Unseen, alane. 



There in thy scanty mantle clad. 

 Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, 

 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 



In humble guise ; 

 But now the share uptears thy bed, 



And low thou lies." 



