Patty of the Vale
'A weedling child on lonely lea
My evening rambles chanced to see;
And much the weedling tempted me
To crop its tender flower;
Exposed to wind and heavy rain,
It’s head bow’d lowly on the plain;
Hand silently it seem’d in pain
Of life’s endanger’d hour.
And and wilt thou bid my bloom decay,
And crop my flower, and me betray,
And cast my injured sweets away?—
Its silence seemly sigh’d
'A moment’s idol of thy mind!
And is a stranger so unkind
to leave the shameful root behind,
Bereft of all its pride?'
And so it seemly did complain;
And beating fell the heavy rain;
And low it droop’d upon the plain,
To fate resign’d to fall:
My heart did melt at its decline,
And ‘ Come,’ said I, ‘ thou gem divine,
My fate shall stand the storm with thine;’
So took the root and all.'
