146 
NATURE NOTES. 
HAREBELLS.* 
The bells are ringing and ringing 
Little low bells on the earth ; 
Sweet as a woodlark's wild singing, 
Little clear laughter and mirth. 
The sunshine breaks, and all around 
A streak of sky runs over the ground 
Where the poor man’s way is open still. 
The bells of England on heath and hill. 
Lie and rest on the dry turf here, 
A soft, soft flutter comes rustling near ; 
One eye-level of dazzling blue 
Dances and streams the wind’s way through.. 
Slumber steals through the nodding band 
So, for an hour, dost thou dream, and say, 
“ I shall have my heart’s desire to-day:” 
Then rise and go, thou hast thy way ; 
These are the bells of Fairy Land. 
The statelier flowers may keep their pride, 
'\^'e fear no footsteps, we do not hide ; 
On the trodden turf of the waste roadside 
^^'e are blown and beaten in breaths of blue ; 
The wings of the gnat are not so thin ; 
But we smile in singing the wild days through,. 
\\'e are here for any Avho care to win. 
Close by is the city’s smoke and din ; 
Even its children can walk so far. 
The poor, the sick, may reaoh where we are. 
We too are lowly, we too are frail. 
Therefore we too outlast and prevail. 
Here, high up on the open hill 
The air of autumn is rude and chill : 
The great star-thistle, the tormentil. 
Purple and gold on the bare hill-side. 
Cling to the earth with arms clasped wide. 
As though they might never else abide ; 
But the wind that sweeps the down on high 
Scatters our light as it passes by. 
Shakes out our peals of melody. 
These are the bells of Eventide. 
The gold and the white open the year, 
The iris and rose are no longer here. 
The green of the woods is turning sere. 
The lily has bowed, it could not stand. 
* Reprinted by permission from “Ballads of the North, and other Poems.”' 
London: Kcgan Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co., Limited. 
