Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth

Amid the storm,

Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,
High sheltering woods an' wa's maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or stane,

Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head

In humble guise;

But now the share up tears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid,

Sweet flowret of the rural shade!

By love's simplicity betray'd,

And guiltless trust,

Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard,

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ;
Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,

Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er"!

Such fate to suffering Worth is given,

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

To Mis'ry's brink,

Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heaven,
He, ruin'd, sink'!

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,

That fate is thine-no distant date:

Stern ruin's plough-share drives elate
Full on thy bloom,

Till, crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!

HAFEZ.

ODE III.

THY form has a resistless grace, And gladness is thy dwelling-place, Ah, soft enslaver of our minds! "Tis from thy pleasing wantonness, From those sweet lips I sweetly press, fond heart contentment finds.

That my

Mild is thy nature, gentle maid,
As is the rose-bud's modest head

In the fresh bow'r of early spring;
And such thy shape, to equal thee,
The garden of eternity

Must its own cypress proudly bring!

Thy coyness, which affects to frown, Thy playful sports, thy cheek of down,

And the dear mole that on it lies;

Thine eye, thine eye-brow's arch so true, Thy step majestic to the view

All with delight my soul surprise!

The rose-bow'rs of my thoughts, from thee,
With paintings and rich broidery,
Colour'd by Fancy's pencil are:
"Tis thine such fragrance to impart,
That the recesses of my heart

Breathe perfume from thy jasmine hair.

In Love's perplexing path, I know,
From the tempestuous storm of woe,

Man never yet found safe retreat;

But thou hast pow'r so much to charm,
That, heedless of each future harm,

I dare its utmost rage to meet.

What, though before thy face I die,
I yield me to my destiny;