189
Sometimes we crown
The castle's dizziest tower, and look
Laughingly down
On the pigmy men in the world below,
Wearily wandering to and fro.
Sometimes we dwell on the cragged crest
Of mountain high;
And the ruddy sun, from the blue sea's breast
Climbing the sky,
Looks from his couch of glory up,
And lights the dew in the Harebell's cup.
We are crowning the mountain
With azure bells
Or decking the fountain
In forest dells,
Or wreathing the ruin with clusters gay,
And nodding and laughing the live-long day,
Then chiming our lullaby, tired with play.
Are we not beautiful? Oh! are not we
The darlings of mountain, and moorland and lea?
Plunge in the forest—are we not fair?
Go to the high road—we'll meet ye there,
Oh! where is the flower that content may tell
Like the laughing, and nodding, and dancing Harebell?
