Oh, blessed lot
To be possessed of wealth and of a heart
So heavenly made that it refuses not
Of its abundance freely to impart!
MacKellar.
You are heir
To lordships, mansions, forests, parks, and gems.
You have three mighty manors in Castile;
Two broad estates in Leon; two amidst
The mulberry trees of Murcia, and huge chests
Crammed full of ingots, dug by naked slaves,
Who famished on coarse bread. Besides all these,
There bloom plantations in the East, whose fruits
Are pearls, and spice, and princely diamonds;
And in Brazil, Pactolus floods, ne’er dumb,
Whose waves all talk in gold!
Cranberry.... Cure for the Heartache.
Far away among the hills,
Far from tower and town,
Where wide moors and heaths lie spread,
Desolate and brown.
Where the grouse and plover live
Far from gun and dog,
A delicate and tiny flower
Decks swamp and watery bog.
The Cranberry blossom dwelleth there
Amid the mountains cold,
Seeming like a fairy gift
Left on the dreary wold.
Oh! and ’tis very beautiful,
The flowers are pink and white,
And the small oval polished leaves
Are evergreen and bright.
’Tis such a wee, fair, dainty thing,
You’d think a greenhouse warm
Would be its proper dwelling-place,
Kept close from wind and storm.