204 
WALL-FLOWER. 
Thy roots outspread the ramparts o’er 
Where in war’s stormy day, 
The Douglases stood forth of yore 
In battle’s grim array: 
The clangour of the field is fled, 
The beacon on the hill 
No more through midnight blazes red— 
But thou art blooming still! 
Whither hath fled the choral band 
That fill’d the abbey’s nave 1 
Yon dark sepulchral yew trees stand 
O’er many a level grave : 
In the belfry’s crevices the dove 
Her young brood nurseth well, 
Whilst thou lone flower, dost shed above 
A sweet decaying smell. 
In the season of the tulip cup, 
When blossoms clothe the trees. 
How sweet to throw the lattice up. 
And scent thee on the breeze: 
The butterfly is then abroad, 
The bee is on the wing, 
And on the hawthorn by the road 
The linnets sit and sing. 
Sweet Wall-flower, sweet Wall-flower 1 
Thou conjurest up to me, 
