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Alas! its no thy neebor fweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet!

Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet!

Wi' fpreckl'd breast,

When upward-fpringing, blythe, to greet

The purpling East.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting North

Upon thy early, humble birth;

Yet chearfully thou glinted forth

Amid the ftorm,

Scarce rear'd above the Parent-earth

Thy tender form,

The flaunting flow'rs our Gardens yield, High fhelt'ring woods and wa's maun fhield;

But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or ftane,

Adorns the hiftie ftibble-field,

Unseen, alane.

There,

There, in thy fcanty mantle clad, Thy fnawie bofom fun-ward fpread, Thou lifts thy unaffuming head

In humble guise;

But now the bare 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 truft,

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

Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of fimple Bard,

On life's rough ocean lucklefs ftarr'd!

Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent Lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er!

Such

Such fate to fuffering Worth is giv'n,

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

To Mis'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!

TQ

ΤΟ

RUI N.

I.

ALL 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, despairing eye,

I fee each aimed dart;

For one has cut my dearest tye,

And quivers in my heart.

Then low'ring, and pouring,

The Storm no more I dread ;

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 fcene of care!

When shall my foul, in filent peace,
Refign Life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbings ceafe,

Cold mould'ring in the clay;

No

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