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But now the share uptears thy bed,

And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artlefs Maid,

Sweet flow'ret of the rural fhade!
By Love's fimplicity betray'd,

And guilelefs trust,

Till fhe, like thee, all foil'd, is laid

Low i' the duft.

Such is the fate of fimple Bard,

On Life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!

Unfkilful he to note the card

Of prudent Lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to fuffering worth is giv'n,

Who long with wants and woes has ftriv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n

To Mif'ry's brink,

Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but HEAV'N,

He, ruin'd, fink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'ft the Daisy's fate,

That fate is thine

-no diftant date;

Stern Ruin's plough-fbare drives, elate,

Full on thy bloom,

Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom!

TO RUIN.

A

I.

LL hail! inexorable lord!

At whose destruction-breathing word,

The mightiest empires fall!

Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,

The minifters of Grief and Pain,

A fullen welcome, all!
With ftern-refolv'd, defpairing eye,

I fee each aimed dart;

For one has cut my dearest tye,

And quivers in my heart.

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Tho' thick'ning, and black'ning,

Round my devoted head.

II.

And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'd,

While Life a pleasure can afford,
Oh! hear a wretch's pray'r!
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care!
When shall my foul, in filent peace,
Refign Life's joyless day?

My weary heart it's throbbings cease,

Cold-mould'ring in the clay?

No fear more, no tear more,
To ftain my lifeless face,
Enclasped, and grasped,
Within thy cold embrace!

EPISTLE

TOA

YOUNG FRIEND.

I

I.

May 1786.

Lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend,

A Something to have fent you,

Tho' it fhould ferve nae other end

Than just a kind memento;
But how the fubject theme may gang,

Let time and chance determine;

Perhaps it may turn out a Sang;

Perhaps, turn out a Sermon.

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