The azure butterflies that flew,
Where ’mid the heath thy blossoms grew,
So lightly trembling.”
HE same charming writer has also called the Harebell “the Flower of Memory,” and truly the sight of these fair flowers, when found in lonely spots in Canada, has carried one back in thought to the wild heathery moors or sylvan lanes of the mother country.
“I think upon the heathery hills
I ae hae lo’ed sae dearly;
I think upon the wimpling burn
That wandered by sae clearly.”
But sylvan wooded lanes, and heathery moorlands are not characters of our Canadian scenery, and if we would seek the Harebell, we shall find it on the dry gravelly banks of lakes or rivers, or rocky islets, for these are its native haunts.