In sae approving me;

But kind still, I'll mind still
The Giver in the gift -
I'll bless her, and wiss her
A friend aboon the lift.

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL,

1786.

WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flower,

Thou's met me in an evil hour;

For I maun crush amang the stoure

Το spare

Thy slender stem :
thee now is past my power,
Thou bonny gem.

Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet,
The bonny lark, companion meet,
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,
Wi' speckled breast,

When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east!

Cauld blew the bitter biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,

Scarce reared above the parent earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield: But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or stane,

Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;

But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid,
Sweet floweret of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betrayed,

And guileless trust,

Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!
Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is given,
Who long with wants and woes has striven,
By human pride or cunning driven

To misery's brink,

Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven,
He, ruined, sink!

Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,

Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom.

LAMENT,

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND'S AMOUR.

"Alas! how oft does goodness wound itself,

And sweet affection prove the spring of woe!"- - HOME.

Оң

While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
Thou seest a wretch who inly pines,
And wanders here to wail and weep!
With woe I nightly vigils keep

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam;
And mourn, in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream.

I joyless view thy rays adorn
The faintly-marked distant hill:
I joyless view thy trembling horn
Reflected in the gurgling rill :
My fondly-fluttering heart be still!

Thou busy power, remembrance, cease!

Ah! must the agonising thrill
For ever bar returning peace!

No idly-feigned poetic pains

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim; No shepherd's pipe - Arcadian strains;

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame :
The plighted faith, the mutual flame,
The oft-attested Powers above,
The promised father's tender name
These were the pledges of my love!

Encircled in her clasping arms,

How have the raptured moments flown! How have I wished for fortune's charms For her dear sake, and hers alone! And must I think it!.

is she gone,

My secret heart's exulting boast? And does she heedless hear my groan? And is she ever, ever lost?

Oh can she bear so base a heart,
So lost to honour, lost to truth,
As from the fondest lover part,

The plighted husband of her youth!
Alas! life's path may be unsmooth !

Her way may lie through rough distress! Then who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less?

Ye winged hours that o'er us passed,

Enraptured more, the more enjoyed, Your dear remembrance in my breast,

My fondly-treasured thoughts employed.
That breast, how dreary now, and void,
For her too scanty once of room!
Even every ray of hope destroyed,
And not a wish to gild the gloom!

The morn that warns th' approaching day,
Awakes me up to toil and woe:
I see the hours in long array,

That I must suffer, lingering, slow.
Full many a pang, and many a throe,
Keen recollection's direful train,
Must wring my soul ere Phœbus, low,
Shall kiss the distant western main.

And when my nightly couch I try,

Sore harassed out with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye Keep watchings with the nightly thief. Or if I slumber, fancy, chief,

Reigns haggard-wild in sore affright: Even day, all bitter, brings relief

From such a horror-breathing night.

Oh thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse, Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway! Oft has thy silent-marking glance

Observed us, fondly-wandering, stray!

The time unheeded sped away,

While love's luxurious pulse beat high,

Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,

To mark the mutual kindling eye.