


Ah!-—some lie arnid the dead, 
(Many a giant stubborn tree,— 
Many a plant, its spirits shed,) 
‘That were better nursed than thee 
What hath saved thee? Thou wast now 
*Gainst the arrowy winter furr’d,—= 
Arm’d in scale—but all forgot 
When the frozen winds were stirr’d. 
Nature, who doth clothe the bird, 
Should have hid thee in the earth, 
Till the cuckoo’s song was heard, 
And the Spring let foode her mirth. 

deep and mystic word, 
aty ie still unknown ! 
Thou didst sure the Snow-drop gird 
With an arrnour all thine own ! 
Thou, who senf’st it forth alone 
To the cold and ; Sl tte season, 
(Like a thought at random thrown,) 
Sent it thus for some grave reason! 
If ’twere but to Bis the mind 
With a single gentle thought, 
Who shall deen thee harsh or blind ? 
Who that thou hast vainly 
Hoard the gentle virtue 

Ww me 0 ought ¥ 
















