Sagacious listeners to the sound, They flock from all the fields around, None more attentive to the call. FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. As in her ancient mistress' lap They gave each other many a tap, But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, And with protruded claws Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm, Mere wantonness the cause. At once, resentful of the deed, She shakes her to the ground With many a threat that she shall bleed With still a deeper wound. But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest: For she that will with kittens jest INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. SWEET bird, whom the winter constrainsAnd seldom another it can To seek a retreat while he reigns In the well shelter'd dwellings of man, Who never can seem to intrude, Though in all places equally free, Come, oft as the season is rude, Thou art sure to be welcome to me. At sight of the first feeble ray That pierces the clouds of the east, To inveigle thee every day My windows shall show thee a feast. For, taught by experience, I know Thee mindful of benefit long; And that, thankful for all I bestow, Thou wilt pay me with many a song. Then, soon as the swell of the buds Bespeaks the renewal of spring, Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods, Or where it shall please thee to sing: And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost, Only pay as thou paid'st me before. Thus music must needs be confess'd Unchangeable friendship and love? That can be delighted by sound, Or boasts any musical powers? STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. THE shepherd touch'd his reed; sweet Philomel And treasuring, as on her ear they fell, The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before And soon (for various was his tuneful store) She dared the task, and, rising as he rose, Thus strength, not skill prevail'd. O fatal strife, ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1728. ANCIENT dame, how wide and vast Rounded to an orb at last, All thy multitude of years! We, the herd of human kind, Frailer and of feebler powers; We, to narrow bounds confined, Soon exhaust the sum of ours. Death's delicious banquet—we Swifter than a shadow flee, Nourish'd but to feed the tomb. Seeds of merciless disease Lurk in all that we enjoy ; Some that waste us by degrees, Some that suddenly destroy. And, if life o'erleap the bourn Fast as moons can wax and wane If a few (to few 'tis given), Lingering on this earthly stage, Creep and halt with steps uneven To the period of an age, Wherefore live they, but to see Oft was seen, in ages past, All that we with wonder view; Often shall be to the last ; Earth produces nothing new. Thee we gratulate, content Should propitious heaven design Life for us as calmly spent, Though but half the length of thine. |