12-2 
THE FLOWER OF THE FOUNTAIN. 
(iVY-LKAVED BELT, FLO'^ER.) 
Thereby a chrystal stream did gently play, 
'V^’bich from a sacred fountain welled forth alway. 
Spenser. 
Like to a little hidden brook 
In the leafy month of June, 
That to the sleeping woods all night 
Singeth a quiet tune. 
It was a blest retreat where I did find 
This modest gem : 
The forest trees above were intertwined, 
And, under them, 
From an old ruined fountain, gurgled out 
A small clear stream, that circled them about. 
And rippling gently onwards through the wood. 
Leaped into light 
Beyond the last old gnarled oak that stood 
Beside the bright 
And sparkling rivulet, like hoaiy age 
Smiling at the pursuits that youth engage. 
Over the fount’s damp, mossy stones there grew. 
Luxuriantly, 
These little bells of faint and tender blue. 
Which gracefully 
