THE BLUE BELL. 
75 
But Heaven and I’d be clad the same 
In fair and fadeless blue : 
No blood-stain’d chief 
Ere plucks this leaf, 
To make his wreath more gay! 
Though still its flower 
Decks village bower, 
And twines the shafts of May.” 
Sweet Florence ! may thy gentle breast 
As artless pleasures swell, 
As those thou deemest still to rest 
In thy beloved Blue-bell! 
And may’st thou feel, 
Though time shall steal 
Thy beauty’s freshest hue, 
A bliss still shed 
Around thy head,— 
Unchang’d like Heaven’ 1 ? own blue ! 
R. T 
