19
And now has Time's slow wandering wing
Borne many a year unmark'd with speed—
Where is the boy by Carron's spring,
Who bound his vale-flowers with the reed?
Ah me! those flowers he binds no more;
No early charm returns again;
The parent, Nature, keeps in store
Her best joys for her little train.
No longér heed the sun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can,
Reason has lent her quivering light,
And shown the chequer'd field of man.
Borne many a year unmark'd with speed—
Where is the boy by Carron's spring,
Who bound his vale-flowers with the reed?
Ah me! those flowers he binds no more;
No early charm returns again;
The parent, Nature, keeps in store
Her best joys for her little train.
No longér heed the sun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can,
Reason has lent her quivering light,
And shown the chequer'd field of man.
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