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TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY.
But, mousie, thou art no thy lane,1
An' leave us naught but grief an' pain
Still thou art blessed, compared with me!
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear,
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear.
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,
TURNED DOWN BY A PLOUGH.- Burns.
WEE, modest, crimson-tippéd flower,
Το spare thee now is past my power,
Alas, it's not thy neebor sweet,
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet!
Wi' speckled breast,
When upward springing, blythe, to greet
The purpling east.
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY.
Cauld blew the bitter, biting north
Scarce reared above the parent earth
The flaunting flowers our gardens yield,
O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie3 stibble-field,
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
In humble guise ;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of simple bard,
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, wrenched of every stay but Heaven,
He, ruined, sink.
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
E'en thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate,
Full on thy bloom;
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. — Mrs. Hemans.
THEY grew in beauty, side by side,
The same fond mother bent at night
One, 'midst the forests of the west,
The Indian knows his place of rest,
The sea, the blue, lone sea, hath one,
He was the loved of all, yet none
One sleeps where southern vines are drest,
He wrapped his colors round his breast,
On a blood-red field of Spain.
THE SOLITARY REAPER.
And one,-o'er her the myrtle showers
The last of that bright band.
And parted thus they rest, who played
They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And naught beyond, O Earth!
THE SOLITARY REAPER. Wordsworth.
BEHOLD her, single in the field,
No nightingale did ever chant
Such thrilling voice was never heard
THE ADOPTED CHILD.
Breaking the silence of the seas
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Or is it some more humble lay,
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
motionless and still;
THE ADOPTED CHILD.—Mrs. Hemans.
"WHY wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child?
Where many an image of marble gleams,
"O, green is the turf where my brothers play,