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Those ills that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er be felt by me,
Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shar'd with thee.

When lightnings flash among the trees,
Or kites are hov'ring near,
I fear lest thee alone they seize,
And know no other fear.

"Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Resolv'd a union form'd for life
Death never shall devide.

But oh! if fickle and unchaste,
(Forgive a transient thought)
Thou couldst become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot.

No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak;

Denied th' endearments of thine eye,
This widow'd heart would break.

Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird,
Soft as the passing wind:

And I recorded what I heard,

A lesson for mankind.

A FABLE.

A RAVEN, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And, on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted.
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same,)
Enjoy'd at ease the genial day;
"Twas April, as the bumpkins say,

The legislature call'd it May.
But suddenly a wind as high,
As ever swept a winter sky,

Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fill'd her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes blow.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears were hush'd together;
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,
'Tis over, and the brood is safe;
(For ravens, though as birds of omen
They teach both conj'rers and old women
To tell us what is to befall,

Can't prophesy themselves at all,)

The morning came, when neighbour Hodge
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge,
And destin'd all the treasure there

A gift to his expected fair,

Climb'd like a squirrel to his prey,
And bore the worthless prize away.

MORAL.

'Tis providence alone secures
In every change both mine and yours:
Safety consists not in escape

From dangers of a frightful shape;
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a hair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oft'nest in what least we dread
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.

ON A GOLDFINCH,

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.

TIME was, when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,
My drink the morning dew;

I perch'd at will on every spray
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new.

But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain,
And form genteel, were all in vain,
And of a transient date;

For caught, and caged, and starved to death,
In dying sighs my little breath

Soon pass'd the wiry grate.

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close

And cure of every ill!

More cruelty could none express;
And I, if you had shown me less,
Had been your pris'ner still.

THE

PINEAPPLE AND THE BEE.

THE pineapples, in triple row,
Were basking hot, and all in blow;
A Bee of most discerning taste,
Perceiv'd the fragrance as he pass'd,
On eager wing, the spoiler came,
And search'd for crannies in the frame,
Urg'd his atfempt on every side,
To every pane his trunk applied;
But still in vain, the frame was tight,
And only pervious to the light:
Thus having wasted half the day,
He trimm'd his flight another way.
Methinks, I said, in thee I find
The sin and madness of mankind.
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Consumes his soul with vain desires:
Folly the spring of his pursuit,
And disappointment all the fruit.

While Cynthia ogles, as she passes,
The nymph between two chariot glasses,
She is the pineapple, and he

The silly unsuccessful bee.

The maid, who views with pensive air
The show-glass fraught with glitt'ring ware
Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets,
But sighs at thought of empty pockets,
Like thine, her appetite is keen,
But ah, the cruel glass between!
Our dear delights are often such,
Expos'd to view, but not to touch;
The sight our foolish heart inflames,
We long for pineapples in frames;
With hopeless wish one looks and lingers;
One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers;
But they whom truth and wisdom lead,
Can gather honey from the weed.

HORACE.

Book II. Oce X.

RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach
Of adverse Fortune's power;
Not always tempt and distant deep.
Nor always timorously creep
Along the treach'rous shore.

He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between

The little and the great,

Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door Imbitt'ring all his state.

The tallest pine feels most the power
Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower
Comes heaviest to the ground;

The bolts that spare the mountain's side,
His cloud-capt eminence divide,

And spread the ruin round.

The well-inform'd philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,
And hopes, in spite of pain;
If Winter bellows from the north,
Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth,
And Nature laughs again.

What if thine heaven be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last;
Expect a brighter sky.

The god that strings the silver bow,
Awakes sometimes the muses too,
And lays his arrows by.

If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,

And let thy strength be seen;
But O! if fortune fill thy sail
With more than a propiticus gale,
Take half thy canvass in.

A REFLECTION

ON THE FOREGOING ODE.

AND is this all? Can Reason do no more
Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore ?
Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea,

The Christian has an art unknown to thee,
He holds no parley with unmanly fears;
Where duty bids, he confidently steers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,

And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all.

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