GARDENS, WREATHS, &c. 
33 
And when daisies and buttercups gladden’d 
my sight, 
Like treasures of silver and gold. 
I love you for lulling me back into dreams 
Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing 
streams. 
And of broken blades breathing their balm ; 
While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine 
remote, 
And the deep mellow crush of the wood- 
pigeon’s note, 
Made music that sweeten’d the calm. 
Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 
Than ye speak to my heart, little wildlings of 
June; 
Of old ruinous castles ye tell : 
I thought it delightful your beauties to find, 
When the magic of nature first breathed on 
my mind, 
And your blossoms were part of her spell. 
Ev’n now what affections the violet awakes ; 
What loved little islands, twice seen in their 
lakes. 
Can the wild water-lily restore. 
W hat landscapes I read in the primrose’s looks ; 
What pictures of pebbles and minnowy brooks, 
In the vetches that tangled the shore. 
