Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew : And now in the grass behold they are laid, 9 And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. 14 With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, 144 TO A MOUSE W. CowPER. On turning her up in her nest with the plough, Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee I'm truly sorry man's dominion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; 20 5 10 10 A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! An' bleak December's winds ensuin' 15 20 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste 25 An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past 30 That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble To thole the winter's sleety dribble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, An' cranreuch cauld! 35 But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane In proving foresight may be vain : The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 40 An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! An' forward, tho' I canna see, R. BURNS. 45 145 A WISH Mine be a cot beside the hill; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; And share my meal, a welcome guest. 5 Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; 10 The village-church among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, 15 S. ROGERS. 146 TO EVENING If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song O Nymph reserved,-while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts O'erhang his wavy bed; Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat 5 11 As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, To breathe some soften'd strain, 15 Whose numbers, stealing through thy dark'ning vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit ; As musing slow I hail Thy genial loved return. For when thy folding-star arising shows Who slept in buds the day, 20 And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; The gradual dusky veil. 25 30 35 40 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; And rudely rends thy robes; So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 147 ELEGY W. COLLINS. 49 WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD The moping owl does to the moon complain 10 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 15 The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 19 25 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! |