THE BLUE-BELL. 
“ I would not be a floweret bung 
On high in mountain snows; 
Nor o’er a castle wall be flung 
All stately though it rose : 
I’d breathe no sighs 
For cloudless skies, 
Nor perfumed Eastern gale, 
So I might be 
A Blue-bell free. 
In some low verdant vaie. 
“ For there the swains and maidens meet, 
With Summer sport and song, 
And Fairies lead with unseen feet 
Their moonlight dance along : 
Each tiny lip 
Would gladly sip 
The dew my cup enshrined, 
And next morn’s Bee 
Would drink from me 
The sweets they left behind. 
“ The Laurel hath a loftier name, 
The Rose a brighter hue, 
