Frisking thus before the fire,

Thou hast all thine heart's desire.

Though in voice and shape they be
Form'd as if akin to thee,

Thou surpassest, happier far,

Happiest grasshoppers that are;

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Theirs is but a summer's song,

Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpair'd, and shrill, and clear,
Melody throughout the year.

Neither night, nor dawn of day,

Puts a period to thy play:

Sing then-and extend thy span

Far beyond the date of man.

Wretched man, whose years are spent

In repining discontent,

Lives not, aged though he be,

Half a span, compar'd with thee.

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SIMILE AGIT IN SIMILE.

BY VINCENT BOURNE.

CRISTATUS, pictisque ad Thaida Psittacus alis,
Missus ab Eoo munus amante venit.

Ancillis mandat primam formare loquelam,
Archididascaliæ dat sibi Thais opus.

Psittace, ait Thais, fingitque sonantia molle
Basia, quæ docilis molle refingit avis.

Jam captat, jam dimidiat tyrunculus; & jam

Integrat auditos articulatque sonos.

Psittace mi pulcher pulchelle, hera dicit alumno;

Psittace mi pulcher, reddit alumnus heræ. Jamque canit, ridet, deciesque ægrotat in horâ,

Et vocat ancillas nomine quamque suo. Multaque scurratur mendax, & multa jocatur, Et lepido populum detinet augurio.

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Nunc tremulum illudet fratrem, quisuspicit, & Pol!

Carnalis, quisquis te docet, inquit, homo est; Argutæ nunc stridet anûs argutulus instar;

Respicit, & nebulo es, quisquis es, inquit anus. Quando fuit melior tyro, meliorve magistra! Quando duo ingeniis tam coiêre pares!

Ardua discenti nulla est, res nulla docenti
Ardua; cum doceat fæmina, discat avis.

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IV. THE PARROT.

TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.

In painted plumes superbly dress'd

A native of the gorgeous east,
By many a billow toss'd;

Poll gains at length the British shore,

Part of the captain's precious store,

A present to his toast.

Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd,

To teach him now and then a word,

As Poll can master it;

But 'tis her own important charge

To qualify him more at large,

And make him quite a wit.

Sweet Poll! his doating mistress cries,
Sweet Poll! the mimic bird replies,

And calls aloud for sack.

She next instructs him in the kiss;

"Tis now a little one, like Miss;

And now a hearty smack.

At first he aims at what he hears;

And, list'ning close with both his ears,

Just catches at the sound;

But soon articulates aloud,

Much to th' amusement of the crowd,

And stuns the neighbours round.

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A querulous old woman's voice

His hum'rous talent next employs,

He scolds, and gives the lie.

And now he sings, and now is sick,

Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick,

Poor Poll is like to die!

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Belinda and her bird! 'tis rare,

To meet with such a well-match'd pair,

The language and the tone,

Each character in ev'ry part

Sustain'd with so much

grace

and art,

And both in unison.

When children first begin to spell,

And stammer out a syllable,

We think them tedious creatures;

But difficulties soon abate,

When birds are to be taught to prate,

And women are the teachers.

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