Joanna Baillie

Good-morrow to thy sable beak,
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek,
Thy crimson moon and azure eye,
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Good-morrow to thy sable beak,
And glossy plumage, dark and sleek,
Thy crimson moon and azure eye,
Cock of the heath, so wildly shy!

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
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Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
Still on their dinner turn--
Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home,
And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword.

But woman's grief is like a summer storm,
Short as it violent is.

But woman's grief is like a summer storm,
Short as it violent is.

The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational;
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The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational;
But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.

The brave man is not he who feels no fear. For that were stupid and irrational. But he, whose noble read more

The brave man is not he who feels no fear. For that were stupid and irrational. But he, whose noble soul its fears subdues, and bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.