T A Muntain Dais,
to a mountain daisy,
on turning down with the plough, in april, 1786.
wee, modest crimson-tipped flow'r,
thou's met me in an evil hour;
for i maun crush amang the stoure
thy sleem:
to spare thee now is past my pow'r,
thou bonie gem.
alas! it's no thy neibor sweet,
the bonie lark, panio,
bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,
wi' spreckl'd breast!
when upward-springing, blythe, to greet
the purpli.
cauld blew the bitter-biting north
upon thy early, humble birth;
yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
amid the storm,
scarce rear'd above the pareh
thy tender form.
the flaunting flow'rs ardens yield,
high shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield;
but thou, beh the random bield
o' clod or stane,
adorns the histie stibble field,
unseen, alane.
there, in thy sty mantle clad,
thy snawie bosom sun-ward 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 flow'ret of the rural shade!
by love's simplicity betray'd,
and guileless trust;
till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
low i' the dust.
such is the fate of simple bard,
on life's rough o luckless starr'd!
unskilful he to he card
of prudent lore,
till bille, and gales blow hard,
and whelm him o'er!
such fate to suffering worth is giv'n,
who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
by human pride or ing driv'n
to mis'ry's brink;
till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but heav'n,
he, ruin'd, sink!
ev'n thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate,
that fate is thine—no distant date;
stern ruin's plough-share drives elate,
full on thy bloom,
till crush'd beh the furrow's weight,
shall be thy doom!
on turning down with the plough, in april, 1786.
wee, modest crimson-tipped flow'r,
thou's met me in an evil hour;
for i maun crush amang the stoure
thy sleem:
to spare thee now is past my pow'r,
thou bonie gem.
alas! it's no thy neibor sweet,
the bonie lark, panio,
bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,
wi' spreckl'd breast!
when upward-springing, blythe, to greet
the purpli.
cauld blew the bitter-biting north
upon thy early, humble birth;
yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
amid the storm,
scarce rear'd above the pareh
thy tender form.
the flaunting flow'rs ardens yield,
high shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield;
but thou, beh the random bield
o' clod or stane,
adorns the histie stibble field,
unseen, alane.
there, in thy sty mantle clad,
thy snawie bosom sun-ward 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 flow'ret of the rural shade!
by love's simplicity betray'd,
and guileless trust;
till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
low i' the dust.
such is the fate of simple bard,
on life's rough o luckless starr'd!
unskilful he to he card
of prudent lore,
till bille, and gales blow hard,
and whelm him o'er!
such fate to suffering worth is giv'n,
who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
by human pride or ing driv'n
to mis'ry's brink;
till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but heav'n,
he, ruin'd, sink!
ev'n thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate,
that fate is thine—no distant date;
stern ruin's plough-share drives elate,
full on thy bloom,
till crush'd beh the furrow's weight,
shall be thy doom!