
















FLOW 
( 
; FIELD FLOWERS. 
| BY CAMPBELI 
| Yr field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, ‘tis true, 
| Yet, wildings of nature, I dote upon you, | 
| F or ye ‘waft me to summers of old, | 
| When the earth teem’d around me with fairy de- || 
| light, || 
| And when daisies and buttercups gladden’d my 
| sight, . 
|| Like treasures of silver and gold. 
‘ | I love you for lulling me back into dreams i 
| Of the blue High land mountains and echoing i 
i| . streams, {| 
|| And ot birchen glades breathing their balm | 
While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine re- | 
|| mote, 
| And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon 
|| note i] 
Made music that sweeten’d the caim. | 
| Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune | 
“|| Than ye spea k to my heart, little wilaings of June: i| 
Of old ruinous castles ye tell, | 
Where [ thought it delightful your beauties to | 
t re first breathed on my | 


ee part at the 
Lic 
