102 
THE COWSLIP. 
Perhaps, from Nature’s earliest May, 
Imperishable ’midst decay, 
Thy self-renewing race 
Have breathed their balmy lives away 
In this neglected place. 
And oh! till Nature’s final doom. 
Here, unmolested, may they bloom. 
From scythe and plough secure — 
This bank their cradle and their tomb— 
While earth and skies endure! 
J. Montgomery. 
\ 
