And destin'd all the treasure there MORAL. "Tis Providence alone secures A COMPARISON. THE lapse of time and rivers is the same, And a wide ocean swallows both at last. A diff'rence strikes at length the musing heart; Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound, 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, 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, To wish thee fairer is no need, More prudent, or more sprightly, What favour then not yet possess'd 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, That wish on some fair future day, ODE TO APOLLO. On an Inkglass almost dried in the sun PATRON of all those luckless brains, And why, since oceans, rivers, streams, Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, Why, stooping from the noon of day, Upborne into the viewless air, It floats a vapour now, Impell'd through regions dense and rare, Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flies, To form an Iris in the skies, Illustrious drop! and happy then Phœbus, if such be thy design, To place it in thy bow, Give wit, that what is left may shine PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A FABLE. I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rosseau,* 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 A story of a cock and bull, Must have a most uncommon skull. 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, And with much twitter and much chatter, Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bulfinch, who could boast My friends! be cautious how ye treat 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 By his good will would keep us single 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, |