86 THE HAREBELL. 
But ye are lovely leaves, where we 
May read how soon things have 
Their end, though ne’er so brave : 
And after they have shown their pride. 
Like you, awhile, they glide 
Into the grave. 
—Herrick. 
THE HAREBELL. 
With drooping bells of clearest blue. 
Thou didst attract my childish view. 
Almost resembling 
The azure butterflies that flew 
Where on the heath thy blossoms grew. 
So lightly trembling. 
Where feathery fern, and golden bloom. 
Increase the sand-rock cavern’s gloom, 
I’ve seen thee tangled, 
’Mid tufts of purple heather bloom, 
By vain Arachne’s treaeh’rous loom. 
With dew-drops spangled. 
’Mid ruins tumbling to decay, 
Thy flowers their heavenly hues display. 
Still freshly springing 
