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None here is happy but in part:
There dwells some wish in ev'ry heart,
ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INK GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
PATRON of all those luckless brains,
Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Upborne into the viewless air
It floats a vapour now,
Impell'd through regions dense and rare,
Of all that ever pass'd my pen,
Phoebus, if such be thy design,
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau*
'Tis clear, that they were always able
A story of a cock and bull,
Must have a most uncommon skull.
To forestal sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
And with much twitter and much chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bulfinch, who could boast
My friends! be cautious how ye treat
It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses?
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
By his good-will would keep us single
Till death exterminate us all.
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?"
Of an immediate conjugation.
All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.
But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, And Destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smil'd 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. Could shelter them from 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 ever met, And learn'd in future to be wiser, Than to neglect a good adviser.
Misses! the tale that I relate
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
THE noon was shady, and soft airs
My spaniel, prettiest of the race,
(Two nymphs, adorn'd with ev'ry grace, That spaniel found for me)
Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,
It was the time when Ouse display'd
With cane extended far I sought
But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains
* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.