

HAREBELL. 
Beneath autumnal breezes bleak, 
So faintly fair, so sadly meek, 
I’ve seen thee bending ; 
Pale as the pale blue veins that streak 
Consumption’s thin transparent cheek, 
With death hues blending. 
Thou shalt be sorrow’s love and mine. 
The violet and the eglantine 
With spring are banished ; 
In summer’s beam the roses shine ; 
But I of thee my wreath will twine, 
When these are vanished. 
THE HAREBELL, 
CAROLINE SYMONDS. 
In Spring’s green lap there blooms a flower 
Whose cup imbibes each vernal shower, 
That sips fresh Nature’s balmy dew, 
Clad in her sweetest, purest blue ; 
Yet shines the ruddy eye of morning, 
The shaggy wood’s brown shade adorning. 
Simplest floweret ! Child of May! 
Though hid from the broad eye of day, 
Doomed in the shade thy sweets to shed, 
Unnoticed droop thy languid head : 
Still Nature’s darling thou’lt remain ; 
She feeds thee with her softest rain ; 
Fills each sweet bud with honeyed tears, 
With genial gales thy bosom cheers. 



