Upborne into the viewless air,
It floats a vapour now,

Impell'd through regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow.

Ordain'd perhaps, ere summer flies,
Combined with millions more,

To form an iris in the skies,

Though black and foul before.

Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever pass'd my pen,
So soon to be forgot!

Phoebus, if such be thy design,

To place it in thy bow,

Give wit, that what is left may shine
With equal grace below.

A COMPARISON.

THE lapse of time and rivers is the same,

Both speed their journey with a restless stream;
The silent pace, with which they steal away,

No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay;
Alike irrevocable both when past,

And a wide ocean swallows both at last.
Though each resemble each in every part,

A difference strikes at length the musing heart;
Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound,
How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd!
But time, that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind.

ANOTHER COMPARISON.

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,
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes.
Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face.

THE POET'S NEW YEAR'S GIFT.
TO MRS (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCKMORTON
MARIA! I have every good

For thee wish'd many a time,
Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.

To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possess'd
Can I for thee require,
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 every heart,
And doubtless one in thine.

That wish on some fair future day,
Which fate shall brightly gild
('Tis blameless, be it what it may),
I wish it all fulfill'd.

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.

A FABLE.

I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau
If birds confabulate or no;

'Tis clear, that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable;

And e'en the child who knows no better
Than to interpret, by the letter,
A story of a cock and bull,

Must have a most uncommon skull.

It chanced then on a winter's day,

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,
Assembled on affairs of love,

And with much twitter and much chatter

Began to agitate the matter.

At length a Bullfinch, who could boast

More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, opening wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publicly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind:

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

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

What marriage means, thus pert replied:

It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deceptio n. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses?

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

By his good will would keep us single

Till yonder neaven 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 express'd
Influenced mightily the rest,

All pair'd, 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 chill'd, their eggs were addled;
Soon every father bird and mother

Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd 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 wander'd on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree

(Two nymphs* adorn'd with every grace

That spaniel found for me),

Sir Robert Gunning's daughters

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent survey'd,
And one I wish'd 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 mark'd my unsuccessful pains
With fix'd considerate face,
And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.

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

I thence withdrew, and follow'd long
The windings of the stream.

My ramble ended, I return'd;
Beau, trotting far before,

The floating wreath again discern'd,
And plunging, left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd
The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried,

Shall hear of this thy deed:
My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed:

But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.

THE WINTER NOSEGAY.

WHAT Nature, alas! has denied
To the delicate growth of our isle,
Art has in a measure supplied,

And winter is deck'd with a smile.

See, Mary, what beauties I bring

From the shelter of that sunny shed,

Where the flowers have the charins of the spring Though abroad they are frozen and dead."

'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets,
Where Flora is still in her prime,
A fortress to which she retreats

From the cruel assaults of the clime.
While earth wears a mantle of snow,

These pinks are as fresh and as gay
As the fairest and sweetest that blow
On the beautiful bosom of May.

See how they have safely survived
The frowns of a sky so severe;
Such Mary's true love, that has lived
Through many a turbulent
year.
The charms of the late-blowing rose
Seem graced with a livelier hue;
And the winter of sorrow best shows
The truth of a friend such as you.

THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT.
AN Oyster, cast upon the shore,
Was heard, though never heard before,
Complaining in a speech well worded,
And worthy thus to be recorded:-

Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell
For ever in my native shell;

Ordain'd to move when others please,
Not for my own content or ease;
But toss'd and buffeted about,
Now in the water and now out.
"Twere better to be born a stone,
Of ruder shape, and feeling none,
Than with a tenderness like mine,
And sensibilities so fine!

I envy that unfeeling shrub,
Fast rooted against every rub.

The plant he meant grew not far off,
And felt the sneer with scorn enough:
Was hurt, disgusted, mortified,
And with asperity replied

(When, cry the botanists, and stare,

Did plants call'd sensitive grow there?
No matter when-a poet's muse is

To make them grow just where she chooses):-
You shapeless nothing in a dish,
You that are but almost a fish,
I scorn your coarse insinuation,
And have most plentiful occasion
To wish myself the rock I view,
Or such another dolt as you:
For many a grave and learned clerk
And many a gay unletter'd spark,
With curious touch examines me,
If I can feel as well as he: