68 WILD FLO WEES. 
That ye fancied a distant vesper hymn, 
Borne o’er the plain 
By the zephyrs that rise on perfumed wing, 
When the sun’s last glances are glimmering ? 
Have ye heard that music, with cadence sweet, 
And merry peal, 
Ring out, like the echoes of fairy feet, 
O’er flowers that steal? 
And did ye deem that each trembling tone 
Was the distant vesper chime alone ? 
The source of that whispering strain I ’ll tell; 
For I ’ve listened oft 
To the music faint of the Blue Hare-bell, 
In the gloaming soft; 
’Tis the gay fairy-folk the peal who ring, 
At even-time for their banqueting. 
And gaily the trembling bells peal out, 
With gentle tongue, 
While elves and fairies career about, 
’Mid dance and song. 
Oh, roses and lilies are fair to see; 
But the wild Blue-bell is the flower for me. 
