The Flood was tyrannous and strong; The patient Brier suffered long, Hoping the danger would be past; III. "Ah!" said the Brier, “blame me not; Why should we dwell in strife? We who in this sequestered spot Once lived a happy life! You stirred me on my rocky bed, What pleasure through my veins you spread The summer long, from day to day, My leaves you freshened and bedewed; Nor was it common gratitude That did your cares repay. IV. "When Spring came on with bud and bell, Among these rocks did I Before you hang my wreaths, to tell That gentle days were nigh! And in the sultry summer hours, I sheltered you with leaves and flowers; V. "But now proud thoughts are in your breast, What grief is mine you see; Ah! would you think, even yet how blest Together we might be! Though of both leaf and flower bereft, Some ornaments to me are left; VI. What more he said I cannot tell, V. THE OAK AND THE BROOM. A PASTORAL. I. HIS simple truths did Andrew glean Beside the babbling rills; 1800. A careful student he had been One winter's night, when through the trees II. "I saw a crag, a lofty stone As ever tempest beat! Out of its head an Oak had grown, A Broom out of its feet. The time was March, a cheerful noon, The thaw-wind, with the breath of June, His neighbor thus addressed :— III. "Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay, Along this mountain's edge, The Frost hath wrought both night and day, Wedge driving after wedge. Look up! and think, above your head What trouble, surely, will be bred; The splinters took another road; I see them yonder, - what a load IV. "You are preparing, as before, no more Down from yon cliff a fragment broke; V. "If breeze or bird to this rough steep Your kind's first seed did bear, The breeze had better been asleep, The bird caught in a snare: For you and your green twigs decoy Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon! Will perish in one hour. And thus, to keep herself awake, 'My thanks for your discourse are due; VII. "Disasters, do the best we can, For me, why should I wish to roam ? This spot is my paternal home, It is my pleasant heritage; My father many a happy year Spread here his careless blossoms, here Attained a good old age. VIII. "Even such as his may be my lot. On me such bounty Summer pours, |