FIELD FLOWERS. 
Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, ’tis true ; 
Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon you ; 
For ye waft me to Summers of old, 
When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, 
And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, 
Like treasures of silver and gold. 
Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 
Than ye speak to my heart, little wildlings of June ; 
Of 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 affection 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 ! 
