FABLES OF FLORA. 53 
TILE PTAXFLOWER. 
Mary Howitt has made ‘ the little flaxflower * 
the subject of a very beautiful poem. We have 
space for only one verse. 
« 
* Ah, ’t is a goodly little thing!. 
It groweth for the poor; 
And many a peasant blesses it, 
Beside his cottage door. 
He thinketh how those slender stems, 
That shimmer in the sun, 
Are rich for him in web and woof, 
And shortly shall be spun. 
He thinketh how those tender flowers, 
Of seed will yield him store, 
And sees in thought his next year’s crop 
Blue shining round his door.’ 
Burns, in his ‘ Cotter’s Saturday Night,’ makes 
the mother reckon the age of her cheese from the 
time of the flax flowering. 
‘ The frugal -wide, garrulous, will tell. 
How’t was a towmond auld, sin’ lint was i' the bell.’ 
