s yield.
High shell'ring woods and wa's maun shield,
But thou beneath the random bield
O' clod or stane,
Adorns the histie _stibbte-Jleld,_
Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the _share_ uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweety _flow'ret_ of the rural shade!
By love's simplicity betray'd.
And guileless 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 giv'n,
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 _Heav'n_,
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!

BURNS.

_LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS._

_On the Approach of Spring._

Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets c' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea;
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;
The merle, in his noontide bow'r,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis mild wi' many a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae;
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.

I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been;
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As