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A WREATH for merry Christmas quickly twine,
A wreath for the bright red sparkling wine,

Though roses are dead

And their bloom is fled,
Yet for Christmas a bonnie, bonnie wreath we'll twine.
Away to the wood where the bright holly grows,
And its red berries blush amid winter snows,
Away to the ruin where the green ivy clings,
And around the dark fane its verdure flings;

Hey! for the ivy and holly so bright,
They are the garlands for Christmas night.



Think of the flowers culled for thee,

In vest of silvery white,
When other flowers perchance you see,

Not fairer, but more bright.
Sweet roses and carnations gay,

Have but a summer's reign ;
I mingle with the buds of May,

Join drear December's train.
A simple unassuming flower,

'Mid showers and storms I bloom ;
I'll decorate thy lady's bower,

And blossom on thy tomb.


Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true,
Yet, wildlings of nature, I dote upon you;

For ye waft me to summers of old,
When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight,
And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight,

Like treasures of silver and gold.

I love you for lulling me back into dreams,
Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams,

And of broken blades breathing their balm;
While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote,
And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note

Made music that sweetened the calm.

Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune
Than ye speak to my heart, little wildļings of June;

Of old ruinous castles ye tell ;
I thought it delightful your beauties to find,
When the magic of Nature first breathed on my mind,

And your blossoms were part of her spell.


Come purpureo fior
Che'l vomere al passa
O come carco di superc,
Il Papaver nell'orto il cap
Cosi giù della faccia ognio
Cadendo, Dardinel, di vita
Passa di vita, e fa passar co
L'ardire e la virtù du tutti


Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true,
Yet, wildlings of nature, I dote upon you ;

ve waft me to summers of old,
earth teemed around me with fairy delight,
aisies and buttercups gladdened my sight,
res of silver and gold.


E'en now what affections the violet awakes ;
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes,

Can the wild water-lily restore.
What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks;
What pictures of pebbles and minnowy brooks

In the vetches that tangle the shore.

Earth's cultureless buds! to my heart ye were dear Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear,

Had scathed my existence's bloom ; Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage, With the visions of youth to revisit my age,

And I wish you to grow on my tomb.



BEAUTIFUL flowers, whose tender forms

Survive the deadly lightning's glare,
And bend your bosoms to the storms

That ride upon the midnight air !

Say, were ye only born to fade;

Or were your tints and odours given,
To give the spirit in the shade

Of this dull world some glimpse of heaven?


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