Page:The Village - Crabbe (1783).djvu/12

 There poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil, There the blue bugloss paints the sterile soil; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy mallow waves her silky leaf; O'er the young shoot the charlock throws a shade, And the wild tare clings round the sickly blade; With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, And a sad splendor vainly shines around.

So looks the nymph whom wretched arts adorn, Betray'd by man, then left for man to scorn; Whose cheek in vain assumes the mimic rose. While her sad eyes the troubled breast disclose; Whose outward splendor is but Folly's dress, Exposing most, when most it gilds distress.

Here joyless roam a wild amphibious race, With sullen woe display'd in every face; Who,