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The birds, conceiving a design

To forestal sweet St. Valentine,

In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,

And with much twitter and much chatter

Began to agitate the matter.

At length a Bulfinch, who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, opening wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publicly enjoined,

Delivered briefly thus his mind.

My friends! be cautious how ye treat The subject, upon which we meet;

I fear we shall have winter yet.

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A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing and satin poll,

A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried

What marriage means, thus pert replied.

Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, Opposite in the apple-tree,

By his good will would keep us single

Till yonder Heaven and earth shall mingle, Or (which is likelier to befall)

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, Attested, glad, his approbation

Of an immediate conjugation.

Their sentiments so well expressed
Influenced mightily the rest,

All paired, and each pair built a nest.

But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves came on not quite so fast,
And destiny, that sometimes bears
An aspect stern on man's affairs,
Not altogether smiled on theirs.
The wind, of late breathed gently forth,
Now shifted east and east by north;
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
Could shelter them from rain or snow,

Stepping into their nests, they paddled,

Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled; Soon every father bird and mother

Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other,

Parted without the least regret,

Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd in future to be wiser,
Than to neglect a good adviser.

MORAL.

Misses! the tale that I relate

This lesson seems to carry

Choose not alone a proper mate
But proper time to marry

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.

NO FABLE.

THE noon was shady, and soft airs

Swept Ouse's silent tide,

When 'scaped from literary cares,

I wandered on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,

And high in pedigree,

(Two nymphs* adorned with every grace

That spaniel found for me)

Now wantoned lost in flags and reeds,

Now starting into sight

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads

With scarce a slower flight.

*Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.

It was the time when Ouse displayed

His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent surveyed,

And one I wished my own.

With cane extended far I sought

To steer it close to land;

But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escaped my eager hand.

Beau marked my unsuccessful pains

With fixt considerate face,

And puzzling set his puppy brains

To comprehend the case.

But with a chirrup clear and strong,
Dispersing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and followed long
The windings of the stream.

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