VERSES TO A ROBIN REDBREAST, Who visited the windows of my prison every day. WELCOME, pretty little stranger! Now, though tyrant Winter howling, Robin! what are these to thee? Though yon fair majestic river Though yon flocks and cattle shiver, Robin! thou art gay and free, Happy in thy liberty. Hunger never shall distress thee, While my cates one crumb afford; Colds nor cramps shall ne'er oppress thee Robin! come and live with me, Soon shall Spring, in smiles and blushes, Should some rough unfeeling Dobbin, Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin! Liberty, the brightest jewel In the crown of earthly joys! All sensations else are cruel, All delights besides are toys, None by captives, such as me Know the worth of liberty. Written during a confinement in York Castle. LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. A TALE. WILL Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated, Next night 'twas the same ;-and the next;--and the next; In six months, his acquaintance began much to doubt him; For his skin, like a lady's loose gown, hung about him. He sent for a doctor; and cried, like a ninny, " I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea." The doctor look'd wise :-" A slow fever," he said; Will kick'd out the doctor:-but, when ill indeed, "Look'e, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin, "That with honest intentions you first took me in; But from the first night-and to say it I'm boldI have been so dd hot, that I'm sure I caught cold." Quoth the landlord-" Till now I ne'er had a dispute; "The oven!!!" passion? says Will-says the host, "Why this In that excellent bed died three people of fashion; Why so crusty, good sir?" "Zounds!" cries Will, in a taking, "Who wouldn't be crusty with half a year's baking?" Will paid for his rooms; cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you've been going away half a year; Friend, we can't well agree"-" Yet no quarrel "-Will said; " For one man may die where another makes bread." Geo. Colman, Jun. STANZAS On the Funeral Ceremonies at his Brother's Tomb. THRO' various realms, o'er various seas I come, Yes, hapless brother! since the hand of fate Hath snatch'd thee ever from my longing sight; As us'd our ancestors, in solemn state, I'll bring each mystic gift, each fun'ral rite! With many a tear I will the ground bedew- Adieu to him who sleeps in yonder grave! FOR THE BLIND ASYLUM AT LIVERPOOL. STRANGER, pause--for thee the day |