Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Bellwort

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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 bellTo 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?
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But then, he 'd hae thee be contentTo 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!
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