ANOTHER.
A glow worm circled round with stars,
With fairest flowers a weed—
Such similes did in my mind
To your request succeed.
I had not written could it seem,
I deemed that aught of mine
Were worth a place where Lords of Song
In dimless splendour shine!
But well I know, as from the Moon
A radiant beam is thrown
Which lends the rudest, meanest scene,
A beauty not its own—
So, haply, Friendship's partial eye
A moment glancing o'er,
May find a worth in this poor page
It could not boast before!
And who will blame the meanest bard,
Or turn displeased away,
If, tempted by the rich reward,
He thus insert his lay?
April, 1831.
