Oh for permission from the skies to share, But I am bankrupt now; and doomed henceforth A TALE.* IN Scotland's realm, where trees are few, But where, however bleak the view, For husband there and wife may boast And false ones are as rare almost In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare A chaffinch and his mate. The spring drew near, each felt a breast They paired, and would have built a nest, The heaths uncovered and the moors Long time a breeding-place they sought, At length a ship arriving brought A ship!-could such a restless thing Or was the merchant charged to bring Hush!-silent hearers profit most,— Proved kinder to them than the coast, But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal, Their roofless home they fixed, Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor, The mother-bird is gone to sea As she had changed her kind; * This tale is founded on an article of intelligence which the author found in the "Buckinghamshire Herald," for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words : 66 Glasgow, May 23. "In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabbert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but scidon while the hen never leaves it but when she descends to the hull for food." No: soon as from ashore he saw Then perching at his consort's side The seaman with sincere delight Than when he tows a prize. For seamen much believe in signs, Each some approaching good divines,— June, 1793. Hail, honoured land! a desert where Whom nothing could divide. And ye who, rather than resign For whose lean country much disdain Be it your fortune, year by year, ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN VERSE. My rose, Gravina, blooms anew; And steeped not now in rain, But in Castalian streams by you, 1793. ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. THE suitors sinned, but with a fair excuse, 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. QUÆ lenta accedit, quam velox præterit hora! Slow comes the hour; its passing speed how great! IN A TIME OF GREAT HEAT. TO HAYLEY. AH! brother Poet, send me of your shade! |