Ewe-boughts Marion (1)/The mountain flower

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THE MOUNTAIN FLOWER.

My love can boast a sweeter flow’r
Than can be seen in cultur’d bow’r,
Where gently falls the simmer-show’r,
⁠Upon the opening blossom.
This early flow’r on mountain’ side,
Bedecks the slope where streamlets glide,
In haste to meet the ocean’s tide,
⁠Which guards its native shore.

I love to seek the Primrose pale,
That bends before the vernal gale,
Which softly breathes along the vale,
⁠When Winter’s storm is o’er.
In Primrose pale I sometimes trace,
The sweetness of my Lucy’s face ;
The tender heart, that stamps the grace,
⁠That blooms when roses wither.