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Such "trumpery and queer" bouquet,
'Till Lubin begged they'd hear him
In its defence:—and soon the gay
Young faces gather'd near him.
LUBIN'S SONG
Fair maidens, I'll sing you a song;
I'll tell you the bonny wild flower,
Whose blossoms so yellow, and branches so long,
O'er moor and o'er rough rocky mountain are flung,
Far away from trim garden and bower.
It clings to the crag, and it clothes the wild hill;
It stands sturdily breasting the storm,
When the loud-voiced winds sing so drearily shrill,
And the snow-flakes in eddies fall silent and still,
And the shepherd can scarce wrap him warm.
'Tis the bonny bright gorse, that gleams cheerily forth,
Like sunlight e'er lingering here,
In the verdure of Spring, and when Summer on earth
Has called all the fairest of blossoms to birth,
As a crown for the noon of the year.
When the "fall of the leaf" in the forest is heard,
And the naked boughs stretch through the air;
And when rustling under each foot that is stirred,
The crisp leaves are crushing;—and when the coy bird
At your door pecks the crumbs scatter'd there;
