In naming the meter we use the Greek numerals--_mono_ (one), _di_ (two), _tri_ (three), _tetra_ (four), _penta_ (five), _hexa_ (six), _hepta_ (seven), and _octa_ (eight), and add to them the word _meter_, thus: _Mo-nom'e-ter_, a line containing one foot, _dim'e-ter_, _trim'e-ter_, _te-tram'e-ter_, _pen-tam'e-ter_, _hex-am'e-ter_, _hep-tam'e-ter_, _and oc-tam'e-ter_. TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN _By_ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night; [Illustration] Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. TO A MOUSE ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOW, NOVEMBER, 1785 _By_ ROBERT BURNS Wee, sleekit,[5-1] cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle![5-2] I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murdering pattle![5-3] 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, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker[6-4] in a thrave[6-5] 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave[6-6] And never miss't! [Illustration: THOU NEED NA START AWA] 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[7-7] green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell[7-8] and keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, And weary winter comin' fast, And cozie, here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter[7-9] past Out thro' thy cell.