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

MORAL.

"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.

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 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.

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,
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 watʼry glass,
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,
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 possess'd
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 ev'ry 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.

ODE TO APOLLO.

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 rare,
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.

Phœbus, if such be thy design,

To place it in thy bow,

Give wit, that what is left may shine
With equal grace below.

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.

A FABLE.

I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rosseau,*
If birds confabulate or no ;

It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philoso pher, 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 chanc'd 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,
Assembed 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, op'ning wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publickly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind :

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we 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 Heav'n and earth shall mingle
Or, (which is likelier to befall,)

Till death exterminate us all.

I marry without more ado,

My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?

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