THE COWSLIP. 
101 
Shelter’d by Nature’s graceful hand, 
Iu briery glens o’er pasture laird, 
The fairy tribe we meet ; 
Gay in the milkmaid’s path they stand. 
They kiss her tripping feet. 
From winter’s farm-yard, bondage-freed, 
The cattle, hounding o’er the mead. 
Where green the herbage grows, 
Among thy fragrant blossoms feed, 
Upon thy tufts repose. 
Tossing his forelock o’er his mane, 
The foal, at rest upon the plain. 
Sports with thy flexile stalk ; 
Yet stcops his little neck in vain. 
To crop it in his walk. 
Where thick thy primrose blossoms play, 
Lovely and innocent as they, 
O’er coppice, lawns and dells, 
In hands the village children stray 
To pluck thy honied hells ; 
Whose simple sweets, with curious skill, 
The frugal cottage dames distil, 
Nor envy France the vine,— 
While many a festal cup they fill 
Of Britain’s homely wine. 
K 2 
