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That ye fancied a distant vesper hymn. 
Borne o’er the plain 
By the Zephyrs that rise on perfumed wing 
When the sun’s last glances are glimmering ? 
Have ye heard that music with cadence sweet. 
And merry peal. 
Ring out like the echoes of fairy-feet 
O’er flowers that steal ? 
And did ye deem that each trembling tone 
Was the distant vesper-chime alone ? 
The source of that whispering strain I’ll tell. 
For I’ve listened oft 
To the music faint of the Blue Harebell, 
In the gloaming soft. 
’Tis the gay faiiy-folk that peal who ring 
At even-time for their hanquetting. 
And gaily the trembling hells peal out 
With gentle tongue. 
While elves and fairies cai'eer about 
’Mid dance and song. 
Oh! roses and lilies are fair to see. 
But the wild Blue Bell is the flower for me! 
None of our garden Campanulas approach this habitant of 
the heaths in delicacy and beauty. The small white Cam¬ 
panula is an elegant little gem, but its dwarfish growth renders 
