There, in thy fcanty mantle clad, Thy fnawie bofom fun-ward spread, Thou lifts thy unaffuming head

In humble guise;

But now the bare uptears thy bed,

And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artlefs Maid,

Sweet flow'ret of the rural fhade!

By Love's fimplicity betray'd,

And guilelefs truft,

Till fhe, like thee, all foil'd, is laid

Low i' the duft.

Such is the fate of fimple Bard,

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!

Unfkilful he to note the card

Of prudent Lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,

And whelm him o'er!

Such

Such fate to fuffering Worth is giv'n,

Who long with wants and woes has ftriv'n, By human pride or cunning driv'n

To Mis'ry's brink,

Till wrench'd of ev'ry ftay but Heav'n,

He, ruin'd, fink!

Ev'n thou who mourn'ft the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine-no diftant date; Stern Ruin's plough-share drives, elate,

Full on thy bloom,

Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,

Shall be thy doom!

ΤΟ

То

RUI N.

ALL hail! inexorable lord!

At whofe deftruction breathing word,
The mightiest empires fall!

Thy cruel, woe-delighted train,
The ministers of Grief and Pain,

A fullen welcome, all !

With

With ftern-refolv'd, despairing eye,
I fee each aimed dart;

For one has cut my dearest tye,

And quivers in my heart.

Then low'ring, and pouring,

The Storm no more I dread;

Tho' thick'ning and black'ning,
Round my devoted head.

II.

And thou grim Pow'r, by Life abhorr'd,
While Life a pleasure can afford,

Oh! hear a wretch's pray'r! No more I fhrink appal'd, afraid; court, I beg thy friendly aid,

To close this scene of care!

When shall my foul, in filent peace,
Refign Life's joyless day;

My weary heart its throbbings ceafe,

Cold mould'ring in the clay;

No

No fear more, no tear more,

To ftain my lifelefs face, Enclafped, and grasped Within thy cold embrace!

ΤΟ