The Bluebell
When the hedgerow primrose dieth.
And the brooklet wanes,
When the gentle south wind sigheth,
Then the Bluebell reigns.
O`er their heads the swallow flitteth,
In the quivering light,
Where the musing May-queen sitteth
'neath the hawthorn white.
How the odorous lowland shineth
Like a garden bower,
Where the lily-nymph reclineth
By the ruined tower!
Waves of blue roll down the mountain,
Swell along the lea;
Waves of blue beside the fountain,
Where the bright maids be.
Waves of blue upon the hedges,
By the zephyr led;
Waves of blue press by the ledges,
Waves of blue o'erhead.
Waves of blue at every bending
Down the village way,
Where the thatcher's song is blending,
With the linnet's lay:
Waves of blue and sounds of singing,
Cheat the lazy hours;
Whilst their fairy bells are ringing,
"`tis the time of flowers."
Man may read man's motives wrongly;
Worth is prized by few;
Oft the meek is hampered strongly;
Oft the false deemed true.
Your Evangel ceaseth never;
In the year's warm youth;
Teaching man to cherish ever,
Love, and hope, and truth.
