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No: soon as from ashore he saw
The winged mansion move, He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never-failing love.

Then perching at his consort's side

Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blast defied,

And cheered her with a song.

The seaman with sincere delight
His feathered shipmates eyes,

Scarce less exulting in the sight
Than when he tows a prize.

For seamen much believe in signs, And from a chance so new
Each some approaching good divines,—

And may his hopes be true!

"June, 1793.

ON A SPANIEL,

KILLING A

A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you,

Well fed, and at his ease, Should wiser be than to pursue

Each trifle that he sees.

But you have killed a tiny bird

Which flew not till to-day, Against my orders, whom you heard

Forbidding you the prey.

Nor did you kill that you might eat
And ease a doggish pain;

Julv 15, 1793.

Hail, honoured land! a desert where

Not even birds can hide,
Yet parent of this loving pair Whom nothing could divide.

And ye who, rather than resign

Your matrimonial plan, Were not afraid to plough the brine

In company with man;

For whose lean country much disdain

We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain

But wantonness and woe;

Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove, And may ye, sometimes landing heie,
Instruct us how to love!

CALLED "BEAU,"

YOUNG BIRD.

For him, though chased with furious heat,
You left where he was slain.

Nor was he of the thievish sort,
Or one whom blood allures,

But innocent was all his sport
Whom you have torn for yours.

My dog! what remedy remains,

Since, teach you all I c.v.i,
I see you, after all my pai ::,

So much resemble man?

BEAU'S REPLY.

Sir, when I flew to seize the bird

In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,

And harder to withstand.

You cried "Forbear!"—but in my breast A mightier cried " Proceed !"—

'Twas Nature, sir, whose strong behest Impelled me to the deed.

Yet much as Nature I respect,
I ventured once to break

(As you perhaps may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;

And when your linnet on a day, Passing his prison door,
Had fluttered all his strength away, And panting pressed the floor,

Well knowing him a sacred thing,
Not destined to my tooth,

I only kissed his ruffled wing,
And licked the feathers smooth.

Let my obedience then excuse
My disobedience now,

Nor some reproof yourself refuse
From your aggrieved Bow-wow;

If killing birds be such a crime
(Which I can hardly see), What think you, sir, of killing Time
With verse addressed to me?

ANSWER TO STANZAS ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH,

BY MISS CATHARINE FANSHAWE.

To be remembered thus is Fame, And in the first degree;
And did the few like her the same, The press might sleep for me.

So Homer, in the memory stored Of many a Grecian belle,
Was once preserved—a richer hoard, But never lodged so well.

1793

ON A LETTER OF MISS FANSHAWE.

Her pen drops eloquence as sweet
As any Muse's tongue can speak;Nor need a scribe, like her, regret
Her want of Latin or of Greek. Aug. 29, 1793.

TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA,

ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN VERSE.

Mv rose, Gravina, blooms anew;

And steeped not now in rain,
But in Castalian streams by you,

Will never fade again.

'793

ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE.

The suitors sinned, but with a fair excuse,
Whom all this elegance might well seduce;
Nor can our censure on the husband fall,
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all.

Sept. 1793

TO MARY.

The twentieth year is well-nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast;Ah, would that this might be the last!My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow;
'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused, and shine no more,
My Mary!

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

My Mary!

But well thou playedst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem
Like language uttered in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,

My Mary!

For, could I view nor them, nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,

My Mary!

Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet, gently prest, press gently mine,

My Mary!

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Such feebleness of limbs thou provest
That now at every step thou movest
Upheld by two, yet still thou lovest,

My Mary!

And still to love, though prest with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,
With me is to be lovely still,

My Mary!

But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!

Autumn of 1793.

ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL FROM MR. HAYLEY

I Should have deemed it once an effort vain
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain,
But from that error now behold me free,
Since I received him as a gift from thee.
Oct. 1793.

MOTTO FOR A CLOCK.

Qu>F. lenta accedit, quam velox praeterit hora!
Ut capias, patiens esto, sed esto vigil!

Slow comes the hour; its passing speed how great!
Waiting to seize it—vigilantly wait!

IN A TIME OF GREAT HEAT.

TO HAYLEV.

Ah ! brother Poet, send me of your shade!
And bid the zephyrs hasten to my aid;
Or, like a worm unearthed at noon, I go,
Despatched by sunshine, to the shades below.

EPIGRAMS ON HIS GARDEN-SHED,
i.

Beware of building! I intended

Rough logs and thatch,—and thus it ended.

II.

Instead of a pound or two, spending a mint
Must serve me at least, I believe, with a hint
That, building and building, a man may be driven
At last out of doors, and have no house to live in.

MONTES GLACIALES,

IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES.

En, quae prodigia, ex oris allata remotis, Oras adveniunt pavefacta per aequora nostras!Non equidem priscae saeclum rediisse videtur

Pyrrhx, cum Proteus pecus altos visere montes

Et sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora

Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitiis alti

In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant. Quid vero hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu?Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex aere vel auro Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis, Bacca caerulea, et flammas imitante pyropo. Ex oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus Parturit omnigenas, quibus aeva per omnia sumptu Ingenti finxere sibi diademata reges?Vix hoc crediderim. Non fallunt talia acutos Mercatorum oculos: prius et quam littora Gangis Liquissent, avidis gratissima praeda fuissent

Ortos unde putemus? An illos Ves'vius atrox Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus ^Etna?

Luce micant propria, Phcebive, per aera purum Nunc stimulantis equos, argentea tela retorquent?

Phcebi luce micant. Ventis et fluctibus altis Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis, Tandem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est Multa onerata nive et canis conspersa pruinis. Caetera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi Bruma fere omnes Contristat menses, portenta haec horrida nobis Ilia strui voluit. Quoties de culmine summo

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