*77 
HONEYSUCKLE. 
Round by the cheerful hearth we meet 
All things beauteous—all things sweet,_ 
Every solace of man’s life, 
Mother daughter—sister—wife I 
England, Isle of free and brave, 
Circled by the Atlantic wave ! 
Though we seek the fairest land 
lhat the south wind ever fanned, 
Yet we cannot hope to see 
Homes so holy as in thee. 
As the tortoise turns its head 
Towards its native ocean-bed, 
Howsoever far it be 
From its own beloved sea, 
Thus, dear Albion, evermore 
Do we turn, to seek thy shore f 
fragment. 
SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wallflower grew, 
And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all his round surveyed, 
And still I thought that shattered’tower 
The mightiest work of human power. 
