38 FIELD FLOWERS. 
And of broken glades breathing their 
balm, 
While the deer was seen glancing in sun¬ 
shine remote, 
And the deep mellow crush of the wood- 
pigeon’s note 
Made music that sweetened the calm. 
Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 
Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings 
of June : 
Of old ruinous castles ye tell. 
Where I thought it delightful your beauties 
to find. 
When the magic of Nature first breathed on 
my mind, 
And your blossoms were part of her 
spell. 
Even now, what affections the violet awakes; 
What loved little islands, twice seen in 
their lakes, 
Can the wild water-lily restore : 
What landscapes I read in the primrose’s 
looks, 
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy 
brooks 
In the vetches that tangled their shore. 
