A FABLE. Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, (For ravens, though as birds of omen They teach both conj`rers and old women, Can't prophesy themselves at all.) The morning came, when neighbour Hodge, Climb'd like a squirrel to his dray, MORAL. 'Tis Providence alone secures In ev'ry change both mine and yours: From dangers of a frightful shape; Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oft'nest in what least we dread, A COMPARISON. THE lapse of time and rivers is the same, And a wide ocean swallows both at last. Though each resemble each in ev'ry part, A diff'rence strikes at length the musing heart; Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound, How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd!" But time, that should enrich the nobler mind, Neglected leaves a dreary waste behind. ANOTHER. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 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, Graceful and useful all she does, And Heav'n reflected in her face. 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, To wish thee fairer is no need, What favour then not yet possess'd In wedded love already blest, To thy whole heart's desire? None here is happy but in part; There dwells some wish in ev'ry heart, That wish on some fair future day, ODE TO APOLLO. ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. PATRON of all those luckless brains, Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, Why, stooping from the noon of day, Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stol'n away A poet's drop of ink? |