X. Her voice was blithe, her heart was light; Her speech, until the stars of night But in the branches of the oak 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 thy bone-house bone on bone? 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! 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 Seven widowed years without my Jane, O Sexton, do not then remove her, VII. TO THE DAISY. "Her✶ divine skill taught me this, 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, |