TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 263 



Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, 

 The bonnie lark, companion meet, 

 Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 



Wi' spreckled breast! 

 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 



Amid the storm, 

 Scarce rear'd 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 starr'd! 



