A FRAGMENT.

FROM out the pregnant stores of the fierce North, Where, mid confusion dire and dangers terrible,

Storms lie, and tempests nestle into being,

See it blackens!

Clouds roll in dark magnificence,

And Gothick grandeur mounts

-As if some spirit, from the nether dell

Of Chaos, having torn the volving fragments,
Scatter'd them mid air,

And these, now by contending winds condens'd,
Mounder'd along the astonish'd vault of Heav'n !

But 'tis the ruler of the hosts on high :.

Some trivial exercise of power divine,

For purposes-to him best known-but wise,

For wisdom is the daughter of Divinity.

TO YONDER BEAUTEOUS LITTLE BIRD

THAT SINGS SO PLEASINGLY.*

PRETTY little warbling note,

Do not cease, so soon, to float-
Beauteous plumage, color❜d high,
Where do you essay to fly?
Dont, oh dont you take alarm,
I'll not even think you harm:
-Perhaps within some distant grove,
You've left the one you constant love.
-Ah then, floating, glide along,
Only close your parting song.
Is she near you in the nest,

Hushing still your young to rest?
Oh then stay, I will not harm you,
Fear nor danger sha'nt alarm you:

-Does she call you ? fare you well

Only close the parting swell.

*This was the title given the piece at the time it was written and is, therefore, still retained.

THE FLY.-A FABLE.

FANCY paints the distant scene,
As a varying, pleasing, green,
Where the eye may rest unheeding,
Fond desire with treasure feeding :
But beware! the danger measure,
Ere you trust the syren pleasure.

In summer ray was hung to view,
(Believe or not my story true)
A web, by spider, long employ'd
In arts, that plenteously destroy'd

The little host of wand'ring flies,
Unheeding, and too sure unwise.
This web the same in texture made,
With those in every corner laid,

The same in form, appearance too

-As constantly to victim true.

But now a damp'ning cloud had pass'd,

And o'er its form profusely cast,

What soon a bright deception made,

By help of Sun's returning aid;
For, high, within the reach of gleam,

It hung, and glisten'd in the beam.

A Fly, of days a few advanc'd,
Beyond the youthful giddy dance,
Where want of years so often slips,
And self-importance always trips,
Was trav'lling, like full many a wight,
In search of ventures, tird of sight
Of home and constancy of view,

Where nothing turn'd up strange or new:

Well vers'd was he by what to know,

The dangers spread by subtle foe;

At least, he surely thought him so.

But now, perchance, as near he drew
Our web, which glistening, hung to view
He'd heard of knowledge late discover'd,
'Mong foreign flies with learning favor'd,
By which the race of spiders were

Really prov'd to be but air.

(Thus passion blinds the impetuous youth,

And fancy, falsehood gilds, for truth.)

His head thus turn'd, he nearer drew,

And thought yon glist'ning something new ;
Some treasure rich to pay his pains,

Or pleasure, which was passing gains :
Then heedless flew, but ah! too late

He mourns his sad decisive fate.

The spider scarcely staid to give
Him hopes that he had long to live,
But seizing, shew'd, with instant care,
Spiders were something more than air.