TO MARY. AUTUMN OF 1793. THE twentieth year is well nigh pass'd, Ah would that this might be the last! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, My Mary! I see thee daily weaker grow— My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream; My Mary! Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline, My Mary! Such feebleness of limbs thou provest, My Mary! And still to love, though press'd with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know, My Mary! And should my future lot be cast My Mary! ON THE DEATH OF Mrs. Throckmorton's Bullfinch. Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red Where Rhenus strays his vine among, The egg was laid from which he sprung, And though by nature mute, Or only with a whistle bless'd, Well taught he all the sounds express'd Of flagelet or flute. The honours of his ebon poll Were brighter than the sleekest mole, With which Aurora decks the skies, Above, below, in all the house, No cat had leave to dwell; Well laticed-but the grate, alas! But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, Night veil'd the pole: all seem'd secure : Subsistence to provide, A beast forth sallied on the scout, He, entering at the study-door, And something in the wind Conjectured, sniffing round and round, Better than all the books he found, Food chiefly for the mind. MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. 57 Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, A rat fast clinging to the cage, For, aided both by ear and scent, Minute the horrors that ensued; His teeth were strong, the cage was wood- O had he made that too his prey! Might have repaid him well, I wote, Maria weeps-the Muses mourn- |