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Or gently felt, and only so,

As being shared with thee.

When lightnings flash among the trees,
Or kites are hovering near,
I fear lest thee alone they seize,
And know no other fear.

"Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Resolved a union formed for life,
Death never shall divide.

But oh! if fickle and unchaste,
(Forgive a transient thought)
Thou couldst become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot.

No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak;

Denied the endearments of thine eye,
This widowed heart would break.

Thus sang the sweet sequestered bird,
Soft as the passing wind;
And I recorded what I heard,
A lesson for mankind.

A FABLE.

A RAVEN, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly-pressed,
And on her wickerwork high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted.
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same,)
Enjoyed at ease the genial day;
Twas April, as the bumpkins say,
The legislature called it May.

But suddenly a wind as high
As ever swept a winter sky,

Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And filled her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears were hushed together:
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph.
"Tis over and the brood is safe ;
(For ravens, though as birds of omen
They teach both conjurers and old women,
To tell us what is to befall,

Can't prophesy themselves at all.)

The morning came, when neighbour Hodge
Who long had marked her airy lodge,
And destined all the treasure there

A gift to his expecting fair,

Climbed like a squirrel to his dray,
And bore the worthless prize away.

MORAL.

"Tis Providence alone secures

In every change both mine and yours:
Safety consists not in escape
From dangers of a frightful shape;
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man, that's strangled by a hair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread;
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow

A COMPARISON.

THE lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Both speed their journey with a restless stream

The silent pace, with which they steal away
No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay;
Alike irrevocable both when past,

And a wide ocean swallows both at last.
Though each resemble each in every part,
A difference strikes at length the musing heart
Streams never flow in vain where streams abound,
How laughs the land with various plenty crowned!
But time, that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected leaves a dreary waste behind.

ANOTHER.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid_

Silent and chaste she steals along,

Far from the world's gay busy throng;
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes;
Pure-bosomed as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face.

THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.

TO MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON.

MARIA! I have every good

For thee wished many a time,
Both sad and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.

To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.

What favour then not yet possessed,

Can I for thee require,
In wedded love already blest,

To thy whole heart's desire?

None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine;

There dwells soine wish in every heart,
And doubtless one in thine.

That wish, on some fair future day,
Which fate shall brightly gild,
("Tis blameless, be it what it may,)
I wish it all fulfilled.

ODE TO APOLLO.

ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.

PATRON of all those luckless brains,
That, to the wrong side leaning,
Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning:

Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,
In constant exhalations;

Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stolen away
A poet's drop of ink?

Upborne into the viewless air

It floats a vapour now,

Impelled through regions dense and rare, By all the winds that blow.

Ordained perhaps ere summer flies,

Combined with millions more.

To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.

Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever past my pen,
So soon to be forgot!

Phœbus, if such be thy design,

To place it in thy bow,

Give wit, that what is left may shine
With equal grace below.

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED

A FABLE.

I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rosseau,*

If birds confabulate or no;

"Tis clear, that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable;

And e'en the child, that knows no better
Than to interpret by the letter

A story of a cock and bull,

Must have a most uncommon scull.

It chanced then on winter's day,
But warm, and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestall sweet St. Valentine,

In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled 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, opening wide his beak,

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 thầm, or can be against the evidence of his senses }

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