[I often ask myself what will become of Rydal Mount after our day. Will the old walls and steps remain in front of the house and about the grounds, or will they be swept away with all the beautiful mosses and ferns and wild geraniums and other flowers which their rude construction suffered and encouraged to grow among them?[215]--This little wild flower--“Poor Robin”--is here constantly courting my attention, and exciting what may be called a domestic interest with the varying aspects of its stalks and leaves and flowers.[216] Strangely do the tastes of men differ according to their employment and habits of life. “What a nice well would that be,” said a labouring man to me one day, “if all that rubbish was cleared off.” The “_rubbish_” was some of the most beautiful mosses and lichens and ferns and other wild growths that could possibly be seen. Defend us from the tyranny of trimness and neatness showing itself in this way! Chatterton says of freedom--“Upon her head wild weeds were spread,” and depend upon it if “the marvellous boy” had undertaken to give Flora a garland, he would have preferred what we are apt to call weeds to garden flowers. True taste has an eye for both. Weeds have been called flowers out of place. I fear the place most people would assign to them is too limited. Let them come near to our abodes, as surely they may, without impropriety or disorder.--I.F.] One of the “Miscellaneous Poems.”--ED. Now when the primrose makes a splendid show, And lilies face the March-winds in full blow, And humbler growths as moved with one desire Put on, to welcome spring, their best attire, Poor Robin is yet flowerless; but how gay 5 With his red stalks upon this sunny day! And, as his tufts[217] of leaves he spreads, content With a hard bed and scanty nourishment, Mixed with the green, some shine not lacking power To rival summer’s brightest scarlet flower; 10 And flowers they well might seem to passers-by If looked at only with a careless eye; Flowers--or a richer produce (did it suit The season) sprinklings of ripe strawberry fruit. But while a thousand pleasures come unsought, 15 Why fix upon his wealth or want[218] a thought? Is the string touched in prelude to a lay Of pretty fancies that would round him play When all the world acknowledged elfin sway? Or does it suit our humour to commend 20 Poor Robin as a sure and crafty friend, Whose practice teaches, spite of names to show Bright colours whether they deceive or no?-- Nay, we would simply praise the free good-will With which, though slighted, he, on naked hill 25 Or in warm valley, seeks his part to fill; Cheerful alike if bare of flowers as now, Or when his tiny gems shall deck his brow: Yet more, we wish that men by men despised,