And from the forlorn world his visage hide, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth. THE weary yeare his race now having run, So let us, which this chaunge of weather vew, So, likewise, Love! cheare you your heavy spright, SPENSER. ODE. PACK clouds away, and welcome day, To give my love good-morrow! To give my love good-morrow, Notes from them both I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast, Give my fair love good-morrow! HEYWOOD. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. WEE, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, For I maun crush amang the stoure To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie Lark, companion meet! When upward-springing, blythe, to greet Cauld blew the bitter-biting North Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce rear'd above the parent earth Thy tender form. |