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! And naething, now, to big a new ane, 15 20 An' bleak December's winds ensuin' That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, To thole the winter's sleety dribble 35 An' cranreuch cauld! 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 Or where the beetle winds 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 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 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 ; 46 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, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 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! 30 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 35 Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 41 Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, 51 Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 55 Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 59 |