 | The Demon of Destiny |  |
TO THE PRIMROSE.
Methinks a smile of conscious helplessnessBeams from the primrose in its mossy nook,
As orphan maiden thinks, when shelterless,
Of sire or frere, a spoiler to rebuke.
The rose is fenc'd with many a warding thorn;
The lily stars in gardens safely vie;
And the free daisy of the summer morn,
Beholds the sun with a confiding eye;
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Lingers sequester'd in the dewy shade.
Sweet modest flower! and hast thou, too, discern'd
The half of merit upon praise depends;
And in the hazel bower dejected learn'd
That all must pine who cannot count on friends?
| The Demon of Destiny | |