Floral Poetry. 
IT 3 
THE HAWTHORN TREE—THE GLORY OF MAY. 
MONG the many buds proclaiming May, 
(Decking the fields in holy-day’s array, 
Striving who shall surpass in bravery,) 
Mark the fair blooming of the Hawthorn tree; 
Who, finely clothed in a robe of white, 
Feeds full the wanton eye with May’s delight. 
Yet, for the bravery that she is in, 
Doth neither handle card nor wheel to spin, 
Nor changeth robes but twice, is never seen 
In other colours than in white or green. 
Learn then content, young shepherd, from this tree, 
Whose greatest wealth is Nature’s livery; 
And richest ingots never toil to find, 
Nor care for poverty, but of the mind. 
Browne. 
THE IIAREBEL L. 
“ YAOR me,” — she stopped, 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 drinks heaven’s dew, blithe as the Rose 
That in 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.” 
Sir Walter Scott. 
P 
