THE SEASON OF BUTTERCUPS. 
39 
where the brooding mother crouches, listening to her 
gallant as he dashes upwards to the sun, singing in the 
blue his roundelay. 
In the hedges nestle all manner of wild herbs and 
creatures, while, along the banks, the hawthorns stretch, 
like boundary walls, for miles and miles, making the 
air so full of fragrance that we seem wafted to some old 
region of enchantment, amid the scenery of the “ Fairy 
Queen,” or within reach of the “ sleep soothing groves ” 
of the “ Castle of Indolence.” Good old friend ! fling¬ 
ing its perfume over the sheep-fields, waving its boughs 
over the thatched roof, and suggesting to the wayfarer 
the merry days of Robin Hood, when the good folks 
went before daybreak to the woods— 
u To gather May-buskets and smelling brere, 
* * * * * 
With hawthorn buds and sweet eglantine, 
And girlonds of roses, and soppes in wine.” 
The Season of Buttercups is also the season of the sw r eet 
birds' song. It is the heyday of Nature, in which the 
blood trips more freshly through the veins of every 
creature, and love stoops down once more to possess all 
things with his warmth and vigour. How could the 
little birds woo and wed at any other time? How, 
except at the season of Buttercups ? when the world is 
surfeited with beauty, when— 
u Each leaf upon the tree doth shake with joy. 
With joy the white clouds navigate the blue. 
And on his painted wings the butterfly, 
Most splendid masker in this carnival, 
Floats through the air in joy.” 
Alexander Smith. 
