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Thou hast known deceit and folly, Thou hast felt that vice is woe; With a musing melancholy, Inly armed, go, maiden! go. Mother, sage of self dominion, Firm thy steps, O melancholy! The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion Is the memory of past folly. Mute the sky-lark and forlorn While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's odorous blooms.
Mute the Lavrac and forlorn While she moults those firstling plumes That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's od'rous blooms; Soon with renovating wing, Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upwards to the day-star sing, And embathe in heavenly light. Myrtle Leaf, that, ill besped, Pinest in the gladsome ray, Soiled beneath the common tread, Far from thy protecting spray;
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