By my fingers press'd.
And it singed my eyes and face,
Set my breast on fire;
Then above my head the blaze
Mounted ever higher.
Vain I sought to put it out;
Ever burned the flame;
Stead of dying, soon the Fox
Livelier still became.
1770. ——- THE HEATHROSE.
ONCE a boy a Rosebud spied,
Heathrose fair and tender,
All array'd in youthful pride,—
Quickly to the spot he hied,