2. Far shower'd around, the hill, the plain
Catch the glad impulse of thy strain,
And fling their veil aside;

While warm with hope and rapturous joy
Thy thrilling lay rings cheerily,

Love swells its notes, and liberty,
And youth's exulting pride.

3. Thy little bosom knows no ill,

No gloomy thought, no wayward will;
”Tis sunshine all, and ease.

Like thy own plumes along the sky,
Thy tranquil days glide smoothly by;
No track behind them as they fly
Proclaims departed peace.

4. "Twas thus my earliest hopes aspired,
'Twas thus, with youthful ardour fired,
I vainly thought to soar:

To snatch from fate the dazzling prize,
Beyond the beam of vulgar eyes.

-Alas! th' unbidden sigh will rise.
Those days shall dawn no more.

5. How glorious rose life's morning star;
In bright procession round her car,
How danced the heavenly train!
Truth beckon'd from her radiant throne,
And Fame held high her starry crown,
While Hope and Love look'd smiling down,
Nor bade my toils be vain.

6. Too soon the fond illusion pass'd ;-
Too gay, too bright, too pure to last,
It melted from my gaze.

And, narrowing with each coming year,
Life's onward path grew dark and drear,
While pride forbade the starting tear
Would fall o'er happier days.

7. Still o'er my soul, though changed and dead,
One lingering, doubtful beam is shed;
One ray not yet withdrawn;
And still that twilight soft and dear,
That tells of friends and former cheer,
Half makes me fain to linger here,-
Half hope a second dawn.

8. Sing on! sing on! What heart so cold,
When such a tale of joy is told,

But needs must sympathize!

As from some cherub of the sky
I hail thy morning melody.

-Oh! could I mount with thee on high

And share thy ecstasies!

Anna Barbauld (1743 — 1825).

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY,

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786.

1. Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flow'r,

Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush among the stoure1

Thy slender stem;

To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonnie gem!

2. Alas! it's no thy neebor2 sweet,
The bonnie lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,3

Wi' spreckl'd breast,
When upward-springing, blithe to greet5
The purpling east.

3. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

6

1 dust.

2neighbour.

3 moisture.

4 spotted. 5 salute.

6 peeped.

Amid the storm,

Scarce rear'd above the parent earth

Thy tender form.

4. The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,

High shelt'ring woods and wa's' maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield

5. There, in thy scanty 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.

6. 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!

7. 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!

8. 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 beneath the furrow's weight,

Shall be thy doom!

Robert Burns (1759 — 1796).

See Blackie's School Classics. The Cotter's Saturday Night, &c.

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TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

Note. This celebrated poem was composed in September, 1789, on the anniversary of the day in which Burns heard of the death of his early love, Mary Campbell.

1. Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usherest in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary! dear, departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

2. That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past-
Thy image at our last embrace!

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

3. Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green;
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined amorous round the raptured scene.
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of wingèd day.

4. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary! dear, departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

Robert Burns (1759 — 1796).

HONEST POVERTY.

1. Is there for honest poverty

That hangs his head, and a' that? The coward-slave, we pass him by; We dare be poor for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;

The rank is but the guinea's stamp

The man's the gowd1 for a' that.

2. What tho' on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hodden2 gray, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine

A man's a man for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that;

The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a' that.

3. You see yon birkie3 ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' thatTho' hundreds worship at his word,

He's but a coof for a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that;
The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a' that.

4. A king can mak a belted knight,

A marquis, duke, and a' that;

But an honest man's aboon his might--
Guid faith, he maunna fa'5 that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities and a' that;

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth
Are higher ranks than a' that.

5. Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,

1 gold.

2 coarse

3 young fellow.

4 fool.

5 must not try.