






















The Poetry of Flowers. 

FIELD FLOWERS. 
BY CAMPBELL. 
YE field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, ‘tis true, 
Yet, wildlings of nature, I dote upon you, 
For ye waft me to summers of old, 
When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, 
And when Daisies and Buttercups gladdened my 
sight, 
Like treasures of silver and gold. 
I love thee for lulling me back into dreams 
Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, 
And of birchen glades breathing their balm, 
While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, 
And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon’s note 
Made music that sweetened the calm. 
Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune 
Than ye speak to my heart, little wildlings of June: 
Of old ruinous castles ye tell, 
Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find, 
When the magic of nature first breathed on my mind, 
And your blossoms were part of the spell. 
Even now what affections the Violet awakes ! 
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, 
Can the wild Water-lily restore ! 
What landscapes I read in the Primrose’s looks, 
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks, 
In the Vetches that tangled their shore! 
Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear, 
Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear, 
Had scathed my existence’s bloom ; 
— 

