TO A PRIMROSE. 
When, the cares of man unknown, 
Boyhood’s pleasures were my own; 
And a sunny day in spring, 
Gladness to my heart could brings 
Gladness from the bright blue sky, 
From the brook that babbled by, 
From the greenwood’s leafy screen, 
From the mead’s enamell’d green. 
In those haunts so fresh and fair, 
In those hours so free from care, 
Faithful memory loves to trace 
Thy familiar form and face. 
There thou wast—where’er I stray’d, 
By the stream or in the glade, 
Welcome to my eye and heart— 
There thou wast, and here thou art. 
Thanks, then, to the friendly theft 
Which thy lowly root up-reft 
From its natal dwelling-place 
In this vase my desk to grace. 
Faintly, while I look on thee, 
Seems the past again to be ; 
Sights and sounds which then were dear 
Greet again my eye and ear. 
83 
