X. Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; The Broom might have pursued Her speech, until the stars of night But in the branches of the oak Two ravens now began to croak XI. One night, my Children! from the north At break of day I ventured forth, The storm had fallen upon the Oak, And struck him with a mighty stroke, And whirled, and whirled him far away; The little careless Broom was left To live for many a day.” 1800. VI. TO A SEXTON. LET thy wheel-barrow alone- In a field of battle made, Where three thousand skulls are laid; These died in peace each with the other,— Father, sister, friend, and brother. Mark the spot to which I point! Take not even a finger-joint : Andrew's whole fire-side is there. Here, alone, before thine eyes, Simon's sickly daughter lies, From weakness now, and pain defended, Whom he twenty winters tended. Look but at the gardener's pride- By the heart of Man, his tears, Thus then, each to other dear, Let them all in quiet lie, Andrew there, and Susan here, Neighbours in mortality. And, should I live through sun and rain O Sexton, do not then remove her, Let one grave hold the Loved and Lover! 1799 VII. TO THE DAISY. "Her divine skill taught me this, Or a shady bush or tree; G. WITHERS. IN youth from rock to rock I went, Of pleasure high and turbulent, Most pleased when most uneasy; *His muse. Thee Winter in the garland wears Whole Summer-fields are thine by right; In shoals and bands, a morrice train, Nor grieved if thou be set at nought: We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, Be violets in their secret mews The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose; Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim, |