Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er, Where, in war's stormy day, Percy or Douglas ranged of yore Their ranks in grim array; The clangour of the field is fled, The beacon on the hill No more through midnight blazes red, But thou art blooming still! IV. Whither hath fled the choral band That filled the Abbey's nave? Yon dark sepulchral yew-trees stand O'er many a level grave. In the belfry's crevices, the dove Her young brood nurseth well, While thou, lone flower! dost shed above A sweet decaying smell. V. In the season of the tulip-cup When blossoms clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up, And scent thee on the breeze; The butterfly is then abroad, The bee is on the wing, And on the hawthorn by the road The linnets sit and sing. VI. Sweet Wall-flower--sweet Wall-flower! Thou conjurest up to me, Full many a soft and sunny hour Of boyhood's thoughtless glee; When joy from out the daisies grew, In woodland pastures green, And summer skies were far more blue, Than since they e'er have been. VII. Now autumn's pensive voice is heard Amid the yellow bowers, The robin is the regal bird, And thou the queen of flowers! He sings on the laburnum trees, Amid the twilight dim, And Araby ne'er gave the breeze Such scents, as thou to him. VIII. Rich is the pink, the lily gay, The rose is summer's guest; Bland are thy charms when these decay, Of flowers--first, last, and best! There may be gaudier on the bower, And statelier on the tree, But Wall-flower--loved Wall-flower, Thou art the flower for me! THE MASQUERADE OF FREEDOM. I. When Freedom first appeared beneath, Right simple was the garb she wore: Her brows were circled with a wreath Such as the Grecian victors bore: Her vesture all of spotless white, Her aspect stately and serene; And so she moved in all men's sight As lovely as a Maiden Queen. II. And queenlike, long she ruled the throng, As ancient records truly tell; Their strength she took not from the strong, But taught them how to use it well. Her presence graced the peasant's floor As freely as the noble's hall: And aye the humbler was the door, The still more welcome was her call. III.