Amid the storm,
Scarce rear’d above the [parent-earth]
Thy tender form.
The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt’ring woods and wa’s[5] maun shield.
But thou, beneath the random bield[6]
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie[7] stibble[8]-field,
Unseen, alane.
There, in thy scanty mantle clad,