Thy words, Immanuel, all forbid
That I should seek my pleasure there.
It was the sight of thy dear cross
First weaned my soul from earthly things, And taught me to esteem as dross
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings.
I want that grace that springs from thee,
That quickens all things where it flows,
And makes a wretched thorn like me,
Bloom as the myrtle or the rose.
Dear fountain of delight unknown,
No longer sink below the brim:
But overflow and pour me down
A living and life-giving stream.
For sure, of all the plants that share
The notice of thy Father's eye,
None proves less grateful to his care,
Or yields him meaner fruit than I.
IN Scotland's realm where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;
But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found.
For husband there and wife may boast
Their union undefiled,
This tale is founded on an article of intelligence which the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words :
In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inpection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it but when she descends to the hull for food.
And false ones are as rare almost
As hedge-rows in the wild.
In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare,
The history chanced of late-
The history of a wedded pair,
A chaffinch and his mate.
The spring drew near, each felt a breast
With genial instinct filled;
They paired, and would have built a nest,
But found not where to build.
The heath uncovered, and the moors,
Except with snow and sleet,
Sea-beaten rocks, and naked shores
Could yield them no retreat.
Long time a breeding place they sought,
Till both grew vexed and tired;
At length a ship arriving, brought
The good so long desired
A ship!--could such a restless thing
Afford them place of rest?
Or was the merchant charged to bring
The homeless birds a nest?
Hush-Silent hearers profit most-
This racer of the sea
Proved kinder to them than the coast
It served them with
But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal,
The tree they call a mast,
And had a hollow with a wheel
Through which the tackle passed.
Within that cavity aloft,
Their roofless home they fixed.
Formed with materials neat and soft,
Bents, wool, and feathers mixt.
Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor,
With russet specks bedight-
The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore,
And lessens to the sight.
The mother-bird is gone to sea,
As she had changed her kind;
But goes the male? Far wiser, he
Is doubtless left behind?
No-soon as from ashore he saw
The winged mansion move,
He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never-failing love.
Then perching at his consort's side,
Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blast defied,
And cheered her with a song:
The seaman with sincere delight
His feathered shipmates eyes,
Scarce less exulting in the sight
Than when he tows a prize.
For seamen much believe in signs,
And for a chance so new,
Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true!
Hail, honoured land! A desert where
Not even birds can hide,
Yet parent of this loving pair
Whom nothing could divide.
And ye who, rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan,
Were. not afraid to plough the brine
In company with man.
For whose lean country much disdain
We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain
But wantonness and wo.
Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove,
And may ye, sometimes landing here,
Instruct us how to love!
Air-"My fond shepherds of late," &c.
No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue;
O Happiness! not to be found,
Unattainable treasure, adieu!
I have sought thee in splendour and dress,
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess,
But have proved thee a vision at last.
An humble ambition and hope
The voice of true Wisdom inspires; "Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope And the summit of all our desires.
Peace may be the lot of the mind
That seeks it in meekness and love;
But rapture and bliss are confined
To the glorified spirits above.
ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER 1793.
KINSMAN beloved, and as a son, by me!
When I behold this fruit of thy regard,
The sculpured form of my old favourite bard,
reverence feel for him, and love for thee.
Joy too and grief. Much Joy that there should be
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward
With some applause, my bold attempt and hard,
Which others scorn: critics by courtesy.
The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine,
I lose my precious years now soon to fail,
Handling his gold, which howsoe'er it shine,
Proves dross, when balanced in the Christian scale.
Be wiser thou-like our forefather DONNE,
Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone.
ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHILLING
TON, THE SEAT OF T. GILFORD, ESQ. 1790.
OTHER stones the era tell,
When some feeble mortal fell;
I stand here to date the birth
Of these hardy sons of earth.
Which shall longest brave the sky.
Storm or frost--these oaks or I?
Pass an age or two away,
I must moulder and decay;
But the years that crumble me
Shall invigorate the tree,
Spread its branch, dilate its size,
Lift its summit to the skies.
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