188 
MATERNAL LOVE. 
And mossy network too is there, 
As if by hand of lady fair 
The work had woven been ; 
And cups the darlings of the eye, 
So deep is their vermillion dye. 
Ah me ! what lovely tints are these. 
Of olive green and scarlet bright, 
In spikes, in branches, and in stars, 
Green, red, and pearly white ! 
Like to those friends whose affection ceases 
not when misfortune assails us, and whose 
kind services even ingratitude cannot repel, 
the mosses exiled from cultivated fields ad¬ 
vance towards the barren and untilled land, 
which they cover with their own substance, 
and by degrees transform it into a fruitful 
soil. In winter it is said that they are charged 
with hydrogen and carbon so as to infect the 
air; but in summer, beds of moss are formed 
in the umbrageous shades of forests' and plan¬ 
tations, where the shepherd, the lover, and the 
poet, are equally delighted to repose; and we 
may add, with Carrington, the traveller, too. 
Here, traveller, rest thee, for the sun is high 
And thou art oid and weary. It is sweet 
To find, at noon, a moorland bank like this, 
To press its luxury of moss, and pid 
The hours fleet by on burning wing. Awhile 
Repose thou in the shade, this stunted tree 
Grasp’d by the choking ivy — of his race 
T he last, has foliage yet enough to screen 
