i114 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
By love’s simplicity betray’d, 
And guileless trust ; 
Till she, like thee, all soil’d, is laid 
Low 7’ the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard, ye 
i On life’s rough ocean luckless starr’d ! Seat 
| Unskilful he to note the card Tho 
tt Of prudent lore, Tet f 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 0h! 
| And whelm him o’er! Twas 
Nan Such fate to suffering worth is given, en 
i iM Who long with wants and woes has striven Al 
| | By human pride or cunning driven 
ani To misery’s brink, A itl 
| Till, wrench’d of every stay but heaven, lis 
IH He ruin’d sink! Ming 
iH : A fil 
E’en thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate, But not 
| That fate is thine—no distant date ; Ty w 
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives elate, Oh! J, 
i Full on thy bloom, Shey 
I) Till crish’d peneath the furrow’s weight, 
Shall be thy doom! "ha 


