HAREBELL. 
265 
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 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.” 
THE HAREBELL. 
Fairy bells of purest blue 
Ring ye forth a message true ; 
Tell how He who makes the flower 
Guards the tiniest by His power ; 
How the sun on lowliest shines, 
How the dew thy wee cup lines; 
Every bud, however small, 
Kept by Him who guards us all, 
This sweet message gladly tell 
Fairy, airy, wee harebell. 
