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'Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse-at least in table;
And e'en the child who knows no better,
Than to interpret by the letter,
A story of a cock and lull,
Must have a most uncommon skull,

It chanc'd then on a winter's day,
But warın, and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestall sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembed on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bulfinch, who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, op'ning wide liis beak,
A moment's liberty to speak ;
And, silence publickly enjoin'i,
Deliver'd briefly thus liis mind :

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we meet;
I fear we shall have winter yet.

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
With golden wing, and satin poll,
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied:

Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
Opposite in the apple tree,
By his good will would keep us single
Till yonder Heav'n and earth shall aningle
Or, (which is likelier to befall,)
Till death exterininate us all.
1 marry without more ailo,
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ?

Dick hcard, and tweedling, ogliny, bridling, Turning short round, strutting, and sideling,

Attested, glad, liis approbation
Of an iminediate conjugation.
Their sentiments, so well express'd,
Infinenc'd mightily the rest,
All pair'd, and cach pair built a nest.

But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves canie on not quite so fast,
And destiny, that sometimes bears
An aspect stern on man's affairs,
Not altogetlıer smild on theirs.
The wind of late breath'd gently forth,
Now shifted east, and east by north ;
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know.
Coulil shelter thein froin rain or snow.
Stepping into their nests, they paddled,
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled ,
Soon ev'ry father bird and mother
Grew quarrelsome, and peck d each other,
Parted without the least regret,
Except that they had never met;
And Icarn'd, in future, to be wiser
Than to neglect a good adviser.


Misses! the tale that I relate

This lesson seenis to carry
Chooge not alone a proper mate,

But proper time, to inarry.





TIE noon was shady, and soft airs

Swept Ouse's silent lide,
When, seap'd from literary cares,

I wander'd on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his raco,

And high in pedigree, ('T'wo nymphis* adorn'd with ev'ry grace

That spaniel found for me.)

Now wanton'd lost in flags and recds,

Now starting into sight,
Pursu'd the swallow o'er tlic incads

With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd

His lilies newly blown;
Their beautics I intent survey'd,

And one I wish'd my own.

With cane extended for I souglit

To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught,

Escap'd my eager hand.

* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains

With fix'd considerate face, And puzzling set his puppy brains

To comprehend the case.

But with a cherup clear and strong,

Dispersing all his dream,
I thence withdrew, and follow'd long

The windings of the stream.

My ramble ended, I return'd;

Beau trotting far beforc,
The floating wreath again discernd,

And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd,

Impatient swiin to meet
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried,

Shall hear of this thy deed : My dog shall inortify the pride

Of man's superiour brecd :

But chief myself I will enjoin,

Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thine,

To him who gives me all.




AN Oyster, cast upon the shore, Was heard, though never heard before,

Complaining in a speech well worded.
And wortlıy thus to be recorded

Ah, hapless wretch ! condemned to dwell
For ever in my native shiell ;
Ordain'd to move when others please,
Not for my own content or ease ·
But loss'd, and bufretted about,
Now in the water, and now out.
'Twere better to be borno a stone,
Or ruder sliapc and feeling none,
Than with a tenderness like mine,
And sensibilities so fine !
I envy that unfeeling shrub,
Fast rooted against ev'ry rub.
The plant he meant grew not far off,
And felt the sncer with scorn enough;
Was hurt, disgusted, mortified,
And with asperity replied.

Wher, cry the botanists, and stare, Did plants callid sensitive grow thera? No matter when--a poet's muse is, To inake them grow just where she choosos

You shapeless nothing in a disli, You that are but almost a fish, I scorn your coarse insinuation, And have most plentiful occasion, To wish myself the rock I view, Or such another dolt as you: For many a gravo and learned clerk, A many a gay unletter'd spark, With curious touch examines mo, If I can feel as well as he ; And when I bend, retire, and shrink, Says Well, 'tis more than one would think ! This life is spent, (oh fie upon't !) In being touch'd, and crying-Don't !

A poet in his ev'ning walk, O'erheard, and check'd this idle talk

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