VI. What more he said I cannot tell, V. THE OAK AND THE BROOM. A PASTORAL. 1800. I. HIS simple truths did Andrew glean Beside the babbling rills; A careful student he had been Among the woods and hills. One winter's night, when through the trees II. “I saw a crag, a lofty stone As ever tempest beat! Out of its head an Oak had grown, A Broom out of its feet. The time was March, a cheerful noon- 'Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay, Along this mountain's edge, The Frost hath wrought both night and day, Wedge driving after wedge. Look up! and think, above your head What trouble, surely, will be bred; And yet, just three years back-no more— Down from yon cliff a fragment broke ; If breeze or bird to this rough steep For you and your green twigs decoy The little witless shepherd-boy To come and slumber in your bower; And, trust me, on some sultry noon, Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon! Will perish in one hour. VI. From me this friendly warning take’— The Broom began to doze, And thus, to keep herself awake, Did gently interpose : 'My thanks for your discourse are due; That more than what you say is true, I know, and I have known it long; Wise, foolish, weak, or strong. VII. Disasters, do the best we can, Will reach both great and small ; Who is not wise at all. For me, why should I wish to roam? This spot is my paternal home, It is my pleasant heritage; My father many a happy year, Spread here his careless blossoms, here Attained a good old age. VIII. Even such as his may be my lot. My heart with terrors? In truth a favoured plant! Am I not On me such bounty Summer pours, IX. The butterfly, all green and gold, Here in my blossoms to behold When grass is chill with rain or dew, |