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108
FEUDS AMONG THE HEATHER.[1]
Methought, when these my flowers entwined were,
I heard a tone,
Like young leaves rustling in the Summer air,
When every one
Whispers forth gentle music:—and I bent
To catch the sound
(If sound that shadow of a voice might be),
Which, murmuring round,
Seemed as though one discoursed displeasedly,
And then another
Answered in softer and more even speech;
It was the Heather—
And this the converse that mine ear did reach.
GREENHOUSE HEATHS.
Gems of the sheltered bower are we;
What know we of wilding flowers like thee?
Thy rugged stem, hung with purple bells,
The tale of thy lowly lineage tells;
- ↑ The group contains two of our wild native heaths and three foreign ones.
