TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, CRUSHED BY A PLOUGH. WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, Wi' speckled breast, When upward-springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, O' clod or stane, Adorn'st the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, Thou lift'st thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless Maid, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd! Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is given, To mis'ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, Full in thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom! BURNS. COMFORT, like the golden sun, Dispels the sullen shade with her sweet influence, And cheers the melancholy house of care. ROWE. NEVER slave Could yet so highly offend, but tyranny, In torturing him, would make him worth lamenting. BEN JONSON. TELL me not of it, friend-when the young weep, As the fond bird, through night and morn, So do I love to hover here, Where dreams of bliss I once enjoy'd, CAN public trust, O reverend sage! destroy the softer ties And blended with the stream that feeds our life? MALLET. LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. LOVE is like the shadow, seen When the sun first lights the skies, But dwindling as each moment flies. I SAW her upon nearer view, Her household motions light and free, A countenance in which did meet Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. THE VANITY OF FAME. As vapours from the marsh's miry bed Now flashing, thundering down the trembling sky, Drop to their base original again; Thus earth-born heroes, the proud sons of praise, And deal dismay and death and ruin round. Where is each boasted favourite of Fame, Fill'd the loud echoes of the world around, With weeping Freedom to the chariot tied, To glory's Capitolian temple rode ? In undistinguish'd dust together trod, Victors and vanquish'd mingle in the grave; |