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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,
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 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!


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ALL hail ! inexorable lord !
At whose destruction breathing word,

The mightiest empires fall!
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The ministers of Grief and Pain,

A fullen welcome, all!

With stern-refoly’d, despairing eye,

I see 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.


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 appal'd, afraid ;
I court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care !
When shall my soul, in filent peace,

Resign Life's joyless day;
My weary heart its throbbings cease,

Cold mould’ring in the clay;


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