A Help for the Memory of the Grand Independent; A New Song

A New Song

The Scottish Broom on Birdnest brae
Twelve tedious years ago,
When many plants strange Blossoms bore
That puzzled high and low,
A not unnatural longing felt —
What longing would you know?
Why, friend, to deck her supple twigs
With yellow in full blow.

To Lowther Castle she addressed
A suit both bold and sly,
(For all the Brooms of Birdnest brae
Can talk and speechify)
That flattering breezes blowing thence
Their succour might supply,
And she would instantly hang out
A flag of yellow dye.

But from the Castle's turrets blew
A chill forbidding blast,
Which the poor Broom no sooner felt
Than she shrank up as fast;
Her wished-for yellow she forswore,
And since that day has cast
Fond looks on colours three or four
And put forth Blue at last.

But now, my lads, the Election comes
In June's sunshiny hours,
When every bank in field and brae
Is clad with yellow flowers.
While faction's Blue from shop and booth
Tricks out her blustering powers,
Lo! smiling Nature's lavish hand
Has furnished wreaths for ours!
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