[THE WILD BLUE-BELLS.]
Came a bouquet from the city,
Fragrant, rich and debonair--
Sweet carnation and geranium,
Heliotrope and roses rare.
Down beside the crystal river,
Where the moss-grown rocks are high,
And the ferns, from niche and crevice,
Stretch to greet the azure sky;
In the chaste October sunlight,
High above the path below,
Grew a tuft of lovely blue-bells,
Softly wind-swung to and fro.
Reached a dainty hand to grasp them,
Bore them home with loving care,
Tenderly and proudly placed them
'Mid the flowers so sweet and fair.
But my timid little blue-bells
Children of the leafy wild,
Dazzled by their city sisters,
Turned away and, tearful, smiled.
When, alone, I bent to kiss them,
Pleadingly they sighed to me,
"Take us, when we die, we pray thee,
Back beneath the dear old tree.
"We would sleep where first the sunshine
Kissed us in the dewy morn;
Where, while soft, warm zephyrs fanned us,
Leaf and bud and flower were born."
So I bore them, when they faded,
Back to where love sighed for them;
Laid them near the ferns and mosses
'Neath the dear old parent stem;--
Deeply grieved that all things lovely
Must so soon forever die,--
That upon the gentle blue-bells
Winter's cold, deep snows must lie.