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Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird,

Soft as the passing wind,
And I recorded what I heard,

A lesson for mankind.


A RAVEN, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And, on her wicker work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted,
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same,)
Enjoy'd at ease the genial day ;
'Twas April, as the bumpkins say,
The legislature call'd it May.
But suddenly a wind as high
As ever swept a winter sky,
Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fill'd her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather,
And all her fears were hush'd together :
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,
'Tis over, and the brood is safe ;
(For ravens, though as birds of omen
They teach both conjörers and old women,
To tell us what is to befall,
Can't prophesy themselves at all ;)
The morning came, when neighbour Hodge
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge,

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A COMPARISON. And destin'd all the treasure there A gift to his expecting fair, Clinb'd like a squirrel to his dray, And bore the worthless prize away.


'Tis Providence alone secures
In ev'ry change both mine and yours
Safety consists not in escape
From dangers of a frightful shape ;
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a hair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oft'nest in what least we dread,
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.


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 pray’rs persuade to stay
Alike irrevocable both when past,
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.



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 destin'd course; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and bless'd where'er she goes, Pure-bosom'd as that wat'ry glass, And Heav'n reflected in her face.




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 wishe thee fairer is no need,

More prudent, or more-sprightly, Ormore ingenious, or more freed

From temper flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possessid

Can I for thee require,
In wedded loye 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 ev'ryi 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.


On an Inkglass 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.

And 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 stol'n away

A poet's drop of ink ?

Upborne into the viewless air,

It floats a vapour now,
Impell’d through regions dense and raro,

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.
Illustrious drop! and happy then

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

So soon to be forgot.
Phæbus, 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 Jaques Rosseau," 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 ?

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