Flo 7'a l Poetiy. 
TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH. 
W EE, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou’st met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush among the stour 
Thy slender stem ; 
To spare thee now is past my power, 
Thou bonnie gem. 
Alas ! it’s no thy neebour sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee ’mang the dewy weet, 
Wi’ speckled breast, 
When upward springing, blythe 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 reared above the parent earth 
Thy tender form. 
The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and wa’s maun shield; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 
O’ clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 
Unseen, alane. 
M 
