And when thou'st read my mournful lay,
Extend thy wing and fly away,
Left pinion-maim'd by fiery shot,
Thou should'st like me bewail thy lot;
Left in thy rook’ry be renew'd
The tragic scene which here I view'd.

The day declin'd, the evening breeze
Gently rock'd the filent trees,
While spreading o'er my peopled nest,
I hush'd my callow young to rest :
When suddenly an hoftile sound,
Explofion dire ! was heard around:
And level'd by the hand of fate,
The angry bullets pierc'd my mate;
I saw him fall from spray to spray,
Till on the distant ground he lay:
With tortur’d wing he beat the plain,
And never caw'd to me again.
Many a neighbour, many a friend,
Deform’d with wounds, invok'd their end :
All screaming omen'd notes of woe,
'Gainst man our unrelenting foe:
These eyes beheld my pretty brood,
Flutt'ring in their guiltless blood :
While trembling on the shatter'd tree,
At length the

gun

invaded me;
But wayward fate, feverely kind,
Refus'd the death I wish'd to find :
O! farewel pleasure; peace, farewel,
And with the gory raven dwell.

02

Was

Was it for this I fhun'd retreat,
And fix'd near man my focial feat!
For this destroy'd the infect train
That eat unfeen the infant grain !
For this, with many an honest note
Iffuing from my artless throat,
I chear'd my lady, lift'ning near,
Working in her elbow chair!

A RECEIPT HOW TO MAKE L'EAU DE VIE.

BY THE LATE MR. CHARLES KING.

WRITTEN AT THE DESIRE OF A LADY.

GTOWN old, and grown

ROWN old, and grown ftupid, you just think me fit

To transcribe from my grandmother's book a receipt;

And a comfort it is to a wight in distress,

He's of fome little ufe-but he can't be of lefs.

Were greater his talents-you might ever command
His head,-("that's worth nought"-then, his heart
and his hand.

So your mandate obeying he fends you, d'ye fee,
The genuine receipt to make L'eau de la vie.

Take

Take feven large lemons, and pare them as thin As a wafer, or, what is yet thinner, your skin;

A quart of French brandy, or rum is ftill better;

(For you ne'er in receipts fhould stick close to the letter :)

Six ounces of fugar next take, and pray mind,

The fugar must be the best double-refin'd;

Boil the fugar in near half a pint of fpring water,

In the neat filver fauce-pan you bought for your daughter;
But be fure that the fyrup you carefully skim,

While the fcum, as 'tis call'd, rises up to the brim ;
The fourth part of a pint you next must allow

Of new milk, made as warm as it comes from the cow.,
Put the rinds of the lemons, the milk, and the fyrup,
With the rum in a jar, and give 'em a ftir up;
And, if you approve it, you may add fome perfume;
Goar-ftone, or whatever you like in its room.

Let it ftand thus three days,-but remember to shake it; And the clofer you ftop it, the richer you make it: Then filter'd thro' paper, 'twill sparkle and rife, Be as foft as your lips, and as bright as your eyes, Laft, bottle it up; and believe me the vicar Of E- himself ne'er drank better liquor: In a word, it excels, by a million of odds, The nectar your fifter presents to the Gods.

Plaintive where the prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the fhepherd's fight.

IV.

From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,

See the chatt'ring swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge, Quick fhe dips her dappled wing.

V.

Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale:
Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daifies on the dewy dale.

VI.

From the balmy fweets, uncloy'd,
(Restless till her task be done)

Now the bufy bee's employ'd
Sipping dew before the fun.

VII.

Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid ftream diftils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock

When 'tis fun-drove from the hills.

VIII.

Colin's for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious;-whilft the huntsman's horn, Boldly founding, drown his pipe.

IX.

Sweet,-O sweet, warbling throng,
On the white embloffom'd spray,

Nature's univerfal fong

Echoes to the rising day.

04