APPENDIX. 
205 
The next is from Langhorne : — 
“ A bower he framed (for he could frame 
What long might weary mortal wight, 
Swift as the lightning’s rapid flame 
Darts on the unsuspecting sight). 
Such bower he framed with magic hand, 
As well that wizard bard hath wove 
In scenes where fair Annida’s wand 
Waved all the witcheries of love. 
Yet was it wrought in simple show; 
Nor Indian mines nor Orient shores 
Had lent their glories here to glow, 
Or yielded here their shining stores. 
All round a poplar’s trembling arms 
The wild rose wound her damask flower 
The woodbine lent her spicy charms, 
That loves to weave the lover’s bower. 
The ash that courts the mountain air, 
In all her painted blooms arrayed, 
The wilding’s blossom blushing fair, 
Combined to form the flowery shade. 
With thyme that loves the brown hill’s breast, 
The cowslip’s sweet reclining head, 
The violet of sky-woven vest, 
Was all the fairy ground bespread.” 
18 
