A little flow'r of genus rare

Bloom'd in a lonely glen ; No idle stranger wandered there, To gaze upon its colours fair,

Far from the haunts of men.

Within the richly sheltered spot

It lived the sumroor through ; The whistling woodman saw it not, When loitering homeward to his cot

'Neath evening's sky of blue.

But Time's untiring, blighting feet

Had chased the summer's green, And in the fair and castled seat That nourished near the flower's retreat

Lived Britain's honoured Queen.

From royal cares and factious strife

She sought a brief repose ; With Scottish hearts to guard her life, A noble Queen, as worthy a wife —

A pattern to her foes.

Oft when rich autumn's golden beams

Had drank the dews away, She walk'd by woods and rippling streams, And fairy nooks, where ancient queens

Had not the pow'r to stray.

Within the glen one sunny morn

She spied the tiny flow'r — Though fading now with petals torn, She deem'd it worthy to be borne To grace the royal bower.

And, tended well with skill and care,

It slept the winter through ; And with the summer's balmy air It bloomed in brightest beauty there,

Enchanting to the view.

John Crawford