162 
Celandine. 
it is pretty well known now-a-days that the only benefit the 
sight gets from these wild blossoms is in the pleasure derived 
from gazing upon them. 
The cheerful-looking little flower called the “ lesser celan¬ 
dine,” deemed emblematical of joys to come , belongs to another 
floral family, quite distinct from the swallow-wort or major 
celandine. " It resembles the buttercup in colour, but is formed 
like a star, with heart-shaped leaves. The blossoms appear 
very early in spring, and at night and in wet weather fold up 
their petals, which instinctive precaution probably preserves 
them from the destructive elements. When the glossy golden 
flowers fall off, they are succeeded by small tubers resembling 
grains of wheat; these tubers grow from the bosom of the 
leaves, and, as the stalks lie upon the ground, grow into the 
earth and become the roots of new plants. The stalks often 
being washed bare by the heavy rains have induced the unin¬ 
vestigating to report that it had rained wheat. 
The glossy star-like blossoms and lustrous green leaves of 
this little flower seem to have rendered it a great favourite with 
Wordsworth, as he has repeatedly sung praises of its “ bright 
coronet:” 
* ‘ Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, 
Let them live upon their praises : 
Long as there’s a sun that sets. 
Primroses will have their glory ; 
Long as there are violets, 
They will have a place in story. 
There’s a flower that shall be mine, 
’T is the little celandine. 
“Ill befall the yellow flowers, 
Children of the flaring hours ! 
Buttercups that will be seen, 
Whether we will see or no ; 
Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
They have done as worldlings do, 
Taken praise that should be thine, 
Little humble celandine! 
“Ere a leaf is on the bush, 
In the time before the thrush 
Has a thought about its nest, 
Thou wilt come with half a call, 
Spreading out thy glossy breast 
Like a careless prodigal; 
Telling tales about the sun, 
When we’ve little warmth or none. 
* * *■ * -* 
“Prophet of delight and mirth, 
Scorned and slighted upon earth ; 
Herald of a mighty band, 
Of a joyous train ensuing ; 
Singing at my heart’s command, 
In the lanes my thoughts pursuing ; 
I will sing, as doth behove, 
Hymns in praise of what I love. ” 
