THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S-GIFT.

TO

MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON.

Maria! I have ev'ry good

For thee wish'd 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 possess'd

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

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To thy whole heart's desire?

None here is happy but in part;

Full bliss is bliss divine:

There dwells some wish in ev'ry 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 fulfill'd

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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,

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Why, stooping from the noon of day,

Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stoln away

A poet's drop of ink?

Upborne into the viewless air,

It floats a vapour now,

Impelld through regions dense and rare,

By all the winds that blow.

Ordain'd perhaps ere summer flies,

Combin'd with millions more, To form an Iris in the skies,

Though black and foul before.

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Illustrious drop! and happy then

Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever pass'd my pen,

So soon to be forgot!

Phoebus, if such be thy design,

To place it in thy bow,
Give wit, that what is left may

shine
With equal grace below.

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PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.

A FABLE.

I Suall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,

If birds confabulate or no;

• It is 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?

"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,

a
Must have a most uncommon skull.

It chanc'd then on a winter's day,
But warm and bright, and calm as May, 10
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestal 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, op'ning wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publickly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind.

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