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The honours of his ebon poll

Were brighter than the sleekest mole,
His bosom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies,

When piping winds shall soon arise
To sweep away the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,

No cat had leave to dwell;

And Bully's cage supported stood
On props of smoothest-shaven wood,
Large-built and latticed well.

Well-latticed-but the grate, alas!

Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,

But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,

With which, when neatly peeled and dried, The swains their baskets make.

LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.

Night veiled the pole: all seemed secure-
When led by instinct sharp and sure,

Subsistence to provide,

A beast forth-sallied on the scout,

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Long-backed, long-tailed, with whiskered snout, And badger-coloured hide.

He, entering at the study-door,
Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind

Conjectured, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impressed,
A dream disturbed poor Bully's rest,
In sleep he seemed to view

A rat, fast-clinging to the cage,

And screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,

Right to his mark the monster went-
Ah, muse! forbear to speak

Minute the horrours that ensued;

His teeth were strong, the cage was woodHe left poor Bully's beak.

Oh had he made that too his prey,
That beak, whence issued many a lay
Of such mellifluous tone,

Might have repaid him well, I wote,
For silencing so sweet a throat,

Maria

Fast stuck within his own.

weeps- the Muses mourn― So, when by Bacchanalians torn,

On Thracian Hebrus' side

The tree enchanter Orpheus fell;
His head alone remained to tell

The cruel death he died.

THE ROSE.

THE rose had been washed, just washed in a shower, Which Mary to Anna conveyed,

The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower, And weighed down its beautiful head.

The

cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet, And it seemed to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was,

For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapped it, it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,

Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resigned.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloomed with its owner a while, And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, May be followed perhaps by a smile.

THE DOVES.

REASONING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,

While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.

One silent eve I wandered late,
And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus addressed her mate,
And soothed the listening dove;

Our mutual bond of faith and truth
No time shall disengage,

Those blessings of our early youth

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