








168 INNOCENCE. 
Malvina! among these flowers we distinguish 
one with a golden disk, surrounded by silver 
leaves; a sweet tinge of crimson adorns its 
delicate rays; waved by a gentle wind, we might 
call it a little infant playing in a green meadow. 
Dry thy tears, oh Malvina! the hero is dead, 
covered with his arms; and the flower of thy 
bosom has given a new flower to the hills of 
Cromla.’ 
“‘ The sweetness of these songs relieved Mal- 
vina’s grief; she took her golden harp, and 
repeated the hymn of the new-born. 
“Since that day the daughters of Morven 
have consecrated the daisy to infancy ; it is, 
said they, the flower of innocence, the flower 
of the new-born.’’ 
——that old favourite—the daisy—born 
By millions in the balmy, vernal morn— 
The child’s own flower. 
CARRINGTON. 
Trampled under foot, 
The daisy lives, and strikes its little root 
Into the lap of time; centuries may come, 
And pass away into the silent tomb, 
And still the child, hid in the womb of time, 
Shall smile and pluck them, when this simple 
rhyme 
Shall be forgotten, like a church-yard-stone, 
Or lingering lie unnoticed and alone, 
When eighteen hundred years, our common date, 
pa ry aetna a Pt At a oe —_—— 
