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Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread,
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
Bat in the sunshine strikes the blow.

A COMPARISON. The lapse of time and rivers is the same, Both speed their journey with a restless stream; The silent pace, with which they steal away, No wealth can bribe, no prayer persuade to stay ; Alike irrevocable both when past, And a wide ocean swallows both at last. Though each resemble each in every part, A difference strikes at length the musing heart ; Streams never flow in vain : where streams abound, How laughs the land with various plenty crowned ! But time, that should enrich the nobler mind, Neglected leaves a dreary waste behind.



Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid-
Silent and chaste she steals along,
Far from the world's gay busy throng ;
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes,
Pure-bosomed as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face.



MARIA! I have every good

For thee wished 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 possessed

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

To thy whole heart's desire ?
None here is happy but in part:

Full bliss is bliss divine;
There dwells some wish in every 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 fulfilled.


PATRON of all those luckless brains,

That to the wrong side leaning
Indite much metre with much pains,

And little or no meaning.

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Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,

That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,

In constant exhalations.
Why stooping from the noon of day,

Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stolen away

A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air,

It floats a vapour now,
Impelled through regions dense and rare,

By all the winds that blow.
Ordained perhaps ere summer flies,

Combined with millions more,
To form an Iris in the skies,

Though black and foul before.

Illustrious drop! and happy then

Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever passed 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.


I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau
If birds confabulate or no;

* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals shonld 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, who knows no better,
Than to interpret by the letter,
A story of a cock and bull,
Must have a most uncommon skull.

It chanced then on a winter's day,
But warm and bright, and calm as May,
The birds conceiving a design
To forestall 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, opening wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publicly enjoined,
Delivered briefly thus his mind :

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject; upon which ye meet;
I fear we shall have winter yet.

A finch, whose tongue knew no control,
With golden wing and satin poll,
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied :

Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
Opposite in the apple-tree,
By his good will would keep us single
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,
Or (which is likelier to befall)
Till death exterminate us all.

marry without more ado ;
My dear Dick Redcap, what say yon?

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short ronnd, strutting and sideling,

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Attested, glad, his approbation
Of an immediate conjugation.
Their sentiments so well expressed
Influenced mightily the rest,
All paired, and each pair built a nest.

But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves came on not quite so fast,
And destiny, that sometimes bears
An aspect stern on man's affairs,
Not altogether smiled on theirs.
The wind, of late breathed gently forth,
Now shifted east and east by north ;
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, .
Could shelter them from rain or show,
Stepping into their nests, they paddled,
Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled ;
Soon every father bird and mother
Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other,
Parted without the least regret,

Except that they had ever met,
1 And learned in future to be wiser,
Than to neglect a good adviser.

Misses! the tale that I relate

This lesson seems to carry
Choose not alone a proper mate,

But proper time to marry.



The noon was shady, and soft airs

Swept Ouse's silent tide,
When’scaped from literary cares,

I wandered on his side.

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