56 POETRY OF 
I see on the grass thy blossoms shed, 
I see (nay I taste) thy berries red, 
And I shout—like the tempest loud and free, 
Hurrah! for the wild wild Cherry-tree. 
Barry Cornwatt. 
HAREBELL. 
Have ye ever heard in the twilight dim, 
A low soft strain, 
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 glance is 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 dream that each trembling tone 
Was the distant vesper-chime alone ? 

