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There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bofom sun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise; But now the mare uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!
Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By Love's fimplicity betray'd,
And guileless trust, Till fhe, like thee, all foil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust.
Such is the fate of simple Bard,
Of prudent Lore,
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 cunning driv'n
To Mis’ry's brink, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n,
He, ruin'd, sink !
Ey'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine-no distant date; Stern Ruin's plough-fare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom, Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!
ALL hail ! inexorable lord !
The mightiest empires fall!
A fullen welcome, all!
With stern-refoly’d, despairing eye,
I see each aimed dart;
The Storm no more I dread ;
Round my devoted head.
And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr’d,
Oh! hear a wretch's pray’r !
To close this scene of care !
Resign Life's joyless day;
Cold mould’ring in the clay;