With Paphian myrtle, or with bays But I, or ere that season come, Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, So sang, in Roman tone and style, The youthful bard ere long, Ordained to grace his native isle With her sublimest song. Who, then, but must conceive disdain, Of wretches who have dared prophane Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones Oh ill requited bard! neglect As much affronts the dead. Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri Fronde comas-At ego secura pace quiescam. MILTON A TALE, Founded on a Fact which happened in January, 1779. WHERE Humber pours his rich commercial stream, There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to blaspheme. In subterraneous caves his life he led, Black as the mine, in which he wrought for bread. A sabbath-day, (such sabbaths thousands keep) To buy a cock, whose blood might win him more; As if the consecrated hours were meant For sport, to minds on cruelty intent: It chanced (such chances Providence obey) He met a fellow-labourer on the way, Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed But now the savage temper was reclaimed. Persuasion on his lips had taken place; For all plead well who plead the cause of grace! He wept, he trembled; cast his eyes around, Learned by his altered speech-the change divine! day Was nigh, when he would swear as fast as they. "No," said the penitent, "such words shall share "This breath no more, devoted now to prayer. "Oh! if thou seest, (thine eye the future sees) "That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these; "Now strike me to the ground, on which I kneel, "Ere yet this heart relapses into steel; "Now take me to that Heaven I once defied, "Thy presence, thy embrace!"-He spoke, and died! A TALE.* IN Scotland's realm, where trees are few, Nor even shrubs abound; 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 only wished a nest, But found not where to build. The heaths uncovered, and the moors, Except with snow and sleet; *This tale is founded on an anecdote which the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words. Glasgow, May 23d. In a block or pully, near the head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Brcomielaw, there is a chaf Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores Long time a breeding place they sought, A ship!—could such a restless thing Or was the merchant charged to bring Hush!-silent hearers profit most! This racer of the sea Proved kinder to them than the coast- But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal; Through which the tackle passed. Within that cavity aloft Their roofless home they fixt; finch'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 seldom, while the hen never leaves it but when she descends to the hulk for food. |