Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Bellwort

by Hannah Flagg Gould

THE BELLWORT.

Look up, look up, thou timid thing,
Nor let thy head sae pensive hing!
I am nae tyrant come to wring
 Thee frae the earth.
Thou art the daughter o' a King—
 O' royal birth!

An' he, wha fashioned me to think,
Maks suns to shine, an' starnies blink—
Gies ilka root in earth its drink
 An' daily fare!
So, dinna fear he 'll let thee sink
 Below his care.

For, tho' he formed thy slender bell
To drap within the laighlie dell,
He kens an' lo'es thee just as well
 As the tall tree,
That, proud as if it made itsel
 Towers over thee.

An', wha that sees his finger move,
To turn the spheres that roll above,
Will need a word o' mine to prove
 That, in his sight,
Thou an' the cedar o' the grove
 Are like in height?

But then, he 'd hae thee be content
To live an' die were thou wert sent;
An' ne'er get a' unwisely bent
 To quit the place,
Whilk thy Creator ever meant
 That thou should'st grace.

Like thee, should ilka virtuous mind,
Where fa's its lot, there be resign'd,
Tho' humble here, it soon will find
 That in the sequel,
The haughtiest laird o' human kind
 Is but its equal!