DAISY. 53 
Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, 
Its fringed border nicely spin, 
And cut the gold-embossed gem 
That, set in silver, gleams within ; 
And fling it unrestrained and free, 
O'er hill and dale, and desert sod, 
That Man, where'er he walks, may see 
In every step the stamp of God ! 
Mason Good. 
Malvina bending over the tomb of Fingal, wept 
for the valiant Oscar, and a son of Oscar's who 
never beheld the light of day. 
The maids of Morven, to soothe her grief, assem- 
bled around her, and sang the death of the hero and 
of the new-born infant. 
The hero is fallen, said they, he is fallen ! The 
crash of his arms hath rung over the plain. He is 
beyond the reach of disease, which enfeebles the 
soul — of old age, which dishonours the brave. He 
has fallen, and the crash of his arms hath rung over 
the plain. In the palace of clouds, where dwell 
his ancestors, he now quaffs with them the cup of 
immortality. Dry the tears of thy grief, daughter 
of Toscar ! The hero is fallen ! — he is fallen ! — and 
the crash of his arms hath rung over the plain ! 
