For I maun crush amang the foure

Thy Nender stem :
To spare thee now is past my pow'r,

Thou bonie gem.
Alas! it's no thy neehor sweet,
The bonie Lark, companion meet!
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,

Wi' fpreckl'd breaft,
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 rear'd above the parent earth

Thy tender form,
The flaunting dow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt'ring woods an’ wa's maun thield;
But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie ftibble field,

Unseen, alane.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom fun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble guise ;
But now the share up-tears 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 the, like thee, all soild, is laid

Low i' the dust.
Such is the fate of fimple 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 suff'ring Worth is giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has ftriv'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, ank.
E'en thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine--no diftant date ;
Stern Ruin's plough-thare drives, elate;

Full on thy bloom,
Till, crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,

Shall be thy dooin.

BRUCE.

ELEGY,

TO SPRING. Tis past; the iron North has spent his rage ;

Stern Winter now resigns the length’ning day ; The stormy howlings of the winds assuage,

And warm o'er ether wefiern breezes play.

Oi genial heat and cheerful light the fource,

From southern climes, beneath another sky, The fun, returning, wheels his golden course;

Before bis beams all noxious vapours fly.

Far to the north grim Winter draws his train

To his own clime, to Zenbla’s frozen shore; Where thron’d on ice, he holds eternal reign;

Where whirlwinds madden, and where tempelis

roar,

Loos'd from the bands of frost, the verdant ground

Again puts on her robe of cheerful green, Again puts forth her flowers; and all around,

Smiling, the cheerful face of Spring is seen. Behold! the trees new-deck their wither'd boughs;

Their ample leaves, the hospitable plane, The taper elm, and lofty ash diłclose;

The blooming hawthorn variegates the scene. The lity of the vale, of flowers the queen,

Puts on the robe the neither few'd nor fpun; The birds on ground, or on the branches green,

Hop to and fro and glitter in the sun. Soon as o'er eastern hills the morning peers,

From her low neft the tufted lark upsprings ; And, cheerful singing, up the air she steers;

Still high she mounts, Itill loud and sweet she sings. On the green furze, cloth'd o'er with golden blooms,

That till the air with fragrance all around: The linnet fits, and tricks his glossy plumes,

While o'er the wild, his broken notes resound.

While the sun journeys down the western sky,

Along the greensward, quark'd with Roman mound, Beneath the blith some shepherd's watchful eye,

The cheerful lambkins dance and frisk around.

Now is the time for those who wisdom love,

Who love to walk in Virtue's fiow'ry roac', Along the lovely paths of Spring to rove,

And follow Nature up to Nature's Gon. Thus Zoroaster studied Nature's laws;

Thus Socrates, the wisest of mankind; Thus heaven-taught Plato trac'd th' Almighty cauft,

And left the wond'ring multitude behind. Thus Ally gather' academic bays ;

Thus gentle Thomson, as the Seasons roll, Taught them to fing the great CREATOR's praisc,

And bear their poet's name from pole to pole. Thus have I wal along the dewy lawn;

My frequent fuot the blooming wild hath worn; Before the lark, l’ve sung the beauteous dawn,

And gather'd health from all the gales of morn ; And, e'en, when Winter chill’d the aged year,

I. wander'd lonely o'er the hoary plain ; Though frosty Bureas warn'd me to forbear,

Boreas, with all his tempefts, warn'd in vain. Then Neep my nighls, and quiet bless'd my days ;

I fear®d no loss, my mind was all my store ; No anxious withes e'er difturb'd

my Heaven gave content and health-I ask'd no mort Now Spring returns;--but not to me returns

The vernal joy, my better years have knową;

ease ;

Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns,

And all the joys of life with health are flown. Starting and shiv’ring in th' inconsiant wind,

Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was, Beneath fome blasted tree I lie reclin'd,

And count the filent moments as they pass : The winged moments, whose unfaying speed

No art can stop, or in their course arreft ; Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead,

And lay me down in peace with them that refi, Oft morning-dreams presage approaching fate ;

And morning.dreams, as poets, tell, are true : Led by pale ghosts, I enter Death's dark gate,

And bid the realms of light and life adieu. I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of woe;

I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The Nuggish streams that flowly creep below,

Which mortals visit and return no more. Farewel, ve blooming felds ! ye cheerful plains !

Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with ftill filence reigns,

And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground. There let me wander at the shut of eve,

When Neep fits dewy on the labourer's eyes, The world and all its busy follies leave,

And talk with Wisdom where my Daphnis ties. There let me seep forgotten in the clay,

When Death Thall shut these weary, aching eyes, Rest in the hopes of an eternal day,

Till the last long night's gone, and the last moin arife.