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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.

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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.

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 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.

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I

SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau
If birds confabulate or no ;

'Tis clear, that they were always able
To bold 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 forestal 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

It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables, which ascribe reason and speech to animals, should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can against the evidence of his senses?

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 publicly 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, Attested, glad, his approbation

Of an immediate conjugation.
Their sentiments so well express'd
Influenc'd mightily the rest,

All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.

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