TO A YOUNG FRIEND,

On his Arriving at Cambridge wet when no Rain had fallen there.

F Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found

While moisture none refresh'd the herbs
around,

Might fitly represent the Church endow'd
With heavenly gifts to heathens not allow'd;
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high,
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry.
Heaven grant us half the omen—may we see
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee!
Mav, 1793.

A TALE.*

N Scotland's realm, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;

But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found.

This tale is founded on an article which appeared in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793:-" Glafgow, May 23. In a block, or pulley, near the head of the maft of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's neft and four eggs. The neft was built while the veffel lay at Green

For husband there and wife

Their union undefiled,

may boast

And falfe ones are as rare almost
As hedge-rows in the wild.

In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare
The history chanced of late-
This history of a wedded pair,
A chaffinch and his mate.

The spring drew near, each felt a breaft
With genial inftinct fill'd;

They pair'd, and would have built a neft,
But found not where to build.

The heaths uncover'd and the moors
Except with fnow and fleet,
Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores
Could yield them no retreat.

Long time a breeding-place they fought,
Till both grew vex'd and tired;
At length a ship arriving brought
The good fo long defired.

A fhip? could fuch a restless thing
Afford them place of rest?

Or was the merchant charged to bring
The homeless birds a neft?

ock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occafionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forfaken the neft. The cock, however, visits the nest but feldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food."

Hush-filent hearers profit most

This racer of the fea

Proved kinder to them than the coaft, It ferved them with a tree.

But fuch a tree! 'twas fhaven deal,
The tree they call a mast,
And had a hollow with a wheel
Through which the tackle paff'd.

Within that cavity aloft

Their roofless home they fix'd, Form'd with materials neat and foft, Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd.

Four ivory eggs foon pave its floor
With ruffet fpecks bedight-
The veffel weighs, forfakes the shore,
And leffens to the fight.

The mother-bird is gone to fea,

As fhe had changed her kind;
But goes the male? Far wifer he
Is doubtlefs left behind.

No;--Soon as from afhore he faw
The winged mansion move,
He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never failing love.

Then, perching at his confort's fide,

Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blaft defied,

And cheer'd her with a fong.

The feaman with fincere delight
His feather'd fhipmates eyes,
Scarce less exulting in the fight
Than when he tows a prize.

For feamen much believe in figns,
And from a chance fo new
Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true!

Hail, honour'd land! a defert where
Not even birds can hide,

Yet parent of this loving pair
Whom nothing could divide.

And ye who, rather than refign
Your matrimonial plan,

Were not afraid to plough the brine
In company with man.

For whofe lean country much disdain
We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain

But wantonnefs and woe.

Be it your fortune, year by year,
The fame resource to prove,

And may ye, fometimes landing here,
Inftruct us how to love!

June, 1793.

ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING A YOUNG BIRD.

SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you,

Well fed, and at his ease,
Should wiser be than to pursue
Each trifle that he fees.

But you have kill'd a tiny bird,
Which flew not till to-day,
Against my orders, whom you
Forbidding you the prey.

Nor did

heard

you kill that you might eat

And ease a doggish pain,

For him, though chafed with furious heat,

You left where he was flain.

Nor was he of the thievish fort,
Or one whom blood allures,
But innocent was all his sport
Whom have torn for yours.

you

My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach

I fee

you

all I can,

you, after all my pains,

So much resemble man?

July 15, 1793.