234 PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. Entreated, opening wide his beak, My friends! be cautious how ye treat I fear we shall have winter yet. A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried By his good-will would keep us single Till death exterminate us all. My dear Dick Redcap, what say you? Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting and sideling, Of an immediate conjugation. 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, } } } The wind, of late breathed gently forth, Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other, INSTRUCTION. Misses! the tale that I relate 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, My spaniel, prettiest of his race, (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 It was the time when Ouse displayed And one I wished my own. With cane extended far I sought But still the prize, though nearly caught, Beau marked my unsuccessful pains With fixt considerate face, But with a chirrup clear and strong, I thence withdrew, and followed long * Sir Robert Gunning's daughters. My ramble finished, I returned; Beau tottering far before The floating wreath again discerned, I saw him with that lily cropped My quick approach, and soon he dropped Charmed with the sight, the world, I cried, Shall hear of this thy deed: But chief myself I will enjoin, Awake at duty's call, To shew a love as prompt as thine To Him who gives me all. THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT, AN Oyster, cast upon the shore, Was heard, though never heard before, Ah, hapless wretch condemned to dwell 238 THE POET, THE OYSTER, &c. Ordained to move when others please, I envy that unfeeling shrub, The plant he meant grew not far off, When, cry the botanists, and stare, To make them grow just where she chooses. You that are but almost a fish, And when I bend, retire, and shrink, Says Well, 'tis more than one would think! |