208 
FLORAL POESY. 
Oh ! then, unfold thy simple charms 
In yon deep thicket’s sheltering arms. 
Far from the fierce and sultry glare, 
No heedless hand shall harm thee there ; 
Still, then, avoid the gaudy scene, 
The flaunting sun, the embroidered green, 
And bloom and fade with chaste reserve, unseen. 
THE HAREBELL. 
SCOTT. 
“For me,”—she stooped, and, looking round, 
Plucked a blue harebell from the ground,— 
“ For me, whose memory scarce conveys 
An image of more splendid days, 
This little flower, that loves the lea, 
May well my simple emblem be ; 
It d viia ks heaven’s dew blithe as the rose 
That m the king's own garden grows ; 
And when I place it in my hair, 
Allan, a bard, is bound to swear 
He ne’er saw coronet so fair.” 
