112 WILD FLOWERS. 
The Bellwort. 
Look up, lookup, thou timid thing, 
Nor let thy head sae pensive hing! 
I am nae tyrant come to wring 
Thee fra the earth. 
Thou art the daughter o’ a King! 
O’ royal birth! 
An’ he, wha fashioned me to think, 
Maks suns to shine, an’ starnies blink— 
Gies ilka root in earth its drink 
An’ daily fare! 
So, dinna fear he ’ll let thee sink 
Below his care. 
For tho’ he formed thy slender hell 
To drap within the laighlie dell, 
He kens an’ lo’es thee just as well 
As the tall tree, 
That, proud as if it made itsel’, 
Towers over thee. 
