THE HAREBELL. 
The Harebell for her stainless azurerl hue 
Claims to be worn by none but those are true. 
Blue-bell! how gaily art thou drest, 
How neat and trim art thou, sweet flower ; 
How silky is thy azure vest, 
How fresh to flaunt at morning’s hour ! 
Could’st thou but think, I well might say 
Thou art as proud in rich array 
As lady, blithesome, young, and vain, 
Prank’d up with folly and disdain. 
Vaunting her power. 
Sweet flower ! 
MRS. ROBINSON. 
The same. —anon, 
anon. 
Sweet Flower ! though many a ruthless storm 
Sweep fiercely o’er thy slender form, 
And many a sturdier plant may bow 
1 n death beneath the tempest’s blow, 
Submissive thou, in pensive guise. 
Uninjured by each gale shalt rise, 
And deck’d with innocence remain 
l iie fairest tenant of the plain : 
