HE A TH. 
{Solitude.) 
MOORLAND BLOSSOMS. 
ELIZA COOK. 
ILD blossoms of the moorland, ye are very dear to 
me; 
Ye lure my dreaming memory as clover does the 
bee; 
Ye bring back all my childhood loved, when freedom, joy 
and health 
Had never thought of wearing chains to fetter fame and 
wealth. 
Wild blossoms of the common land, brave tenants of the 
earth, 
Your breathings were among the first that helped my 
spirit’s birth; 
For how my busy brain would dream, and how my heart 
would burn, 
Where gorse and heather flung their arms above the forest 
fern. 
******* 
Who loved me then ? Oh, those who were as gentle as 
sincere, 
