And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires; And hears their simple bell, and marks o’er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. 40 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light; While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 45 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, And rudely rends thy robes; So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 50 Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name! _William Collins._ CXLVIII _TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY._ Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flower, 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 power, 5 Thou bonnie gem. Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet! Bending thee ’mang the dewy weet Wi’ speckled breast, 10 When upward-springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 15 Amid the storm; Scarce reared above the parent-earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa’s maun shield, 20 But thou, beneath the random bield O’ clod, or stane, Adorns the histie stubble-field, Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 25 Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies! 30 Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade! By love’s simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 35 Low i’ the dust. Such is the fate of simple bard, On life’s rough ocean luckless-starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, 40 Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, And whelm him o’er!