Ill befal the yellow flowers,
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien;
They have done as worldlings do,
Taken praise that should be thine,
Little, humble, Celandine!' I. 25.
After talking of its 'bright coronet,' the ditty is wound up with this
piece of babyish absurdity.
'Thou art not beyond the moon,
But a thing "beneath our shoon;"
Let, as old Magellan did,
Others roam about the sea;
Build who will a pyramid;
Praise it is enough for me,
If there be but three or four
Who will love my little flower.' I. 30.
After this come some more manly lines on 'The Character of the Happy
Warrior,' and a chivalrous legend on 'The Horn of Egremont Castle,'
which, without being very good, is very tolerable, and free from most of
the author's habitual defects. Then follow some pretty, but professedly
childish verses, on a kitten playing with the falling leaves. There is
rather too much of Mr Ambrose Philips here and there in this piece also;
but it is amiable and lively.
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