in the midst of its toil. We wish that, in those days of disaster, which, as they come upon all nations, must be expected to come upon us also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be 5 assured that the foundations of our national power are still strong. We wish that this column, rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last object to the sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the first to gladden him who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise! let it rise, till it meet 15 the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its summit.

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From the "First Bunker Hill Oration."

DANIEL WEBSTER.

TO A MOUSE.

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim 'rous beastie,

O, what a panic's in thy breastie !
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve ;·
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave

'S a sma' request:

I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's winds ensuin',
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste,
An' weary winter comin' fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash the cruel coulter passed,
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!

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Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,

To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou are no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain :
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promised joy.

Still thou art blessed, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

ROBERT BURNS.

20

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY.

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

Wee, modest, crimson-tippéd flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem.

To spare thee now is past my pow'r,
Thou bonny gem.

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet,
The bonny Lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet!
Wi' speckled breast,

When upward-springing, blythe, to greet
The purpling east.

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

Scarce reared above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,

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

O' clod or stane,

Adorns the histie stibble-field,

Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sunward 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 simple Bard,
On life's rough ocean luckless starred!

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Unskillful 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 have striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n

To mis'ry's brink,

Till wrenched of ev'ry stay but Heav'n,
He, ruined, sink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate,
That fate is thine-no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,

Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!

ROBERT BURNS.

OF A GOOD AND PEACEABLE MAN.

First, keep thyself in peace and then shalt thou be able to make peace among others.

A peaceable man doth more good than he that is 20 well learned.

A passionate man draweth even good into evil, and easily believeth the worst.