76

INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST.

Thus music must needs be confess'd
To flow from a fountain above;
Else how should it work in the breast
Unchangeable friendship and love?

And who on the globe can be found,
Save your generation and ours,
That can be delighted by sound,
Or boasts any musical powers?

XII. STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. THE shepherd touch'd his reed; sweet Philomel Essay'd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain, And treasuring, as on her ear they fell,

The numbers echoed note for note again.

The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before
A rival of his skill, indignant heard,

And soon (for various was his tuneful store)
In loftier tones defied the simple bird.

She dared the task, and rising, as he rose,

With all the force that passion gives inspired, Return'd the sounds a while, but, in the close, Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired.

Thus strength, not skill, prevail'd. O fatal strife, By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun ;

And, O sad victory, which cost thy life,

And he may wish that he had never won!..

XIII. ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY,

WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1728.

ANCIENT dame, how wide and vast,
To a race like ours appears,
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
Perish even from the womb,
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
Common to the sons of men,
What remains, but that we mourn,
Dream, and dote, and drivel then?

78

ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY.

Fast as moons can wax and wane,
Sorrow comes; and, while we groan,
Pant with anguish and complain,
Half our years are fled and gone.

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
Cunning, arrogance, and force,
Sights lamented much by thee,
Holding their accustom'd course?

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.

XIV. THE CAUSE WON.
Two neighbours furiously dispute;
A field-the subject of the suit.
Trivial the spot, yet such the rage
With which the combatants engage,
'Twere hard to tell, who covets most
The prize-at whatsoever cost.

The pleadings swell. Words still suffice;
No single word but has its price:
No term but yields some fair pretence
For novel and increased expense.

Defendant thus becomes a name, Which he that bore it may disclaim; Since both, in one description blended, Are plaintiffs-when the suit is ended.

XV. THE SILKWORM.

THE beams of April, ere it goes,
A worm, scarce visible, disclose;
All winter long content to dwell
The tenant of his native shell.
The same prolific season gives
The sustenance by which he lives,
The mulberry-leaf, a simple store,

That serves him-till he needs no more!

For, his dimensions once complete,
Thenceforth none ever sees him eat;
Though, till his growing time be pass'd,
Scarce ever is he seen to fast.

That hour arrived, his work begins;

He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins;
Till circle upon circle wound

Careless around him and around,
Conceals him with a veil, though slight,
Impervious to the keenest sight.
Thus self-enclosed, as in a cask,
At length he finishes his task:

And, though a worm, when he was lost,

Or caterpillar at the most,

When next we see him, wings he wears,
And in papilio-pomp appears;

Becomes oviparous; supplies

With future worms and future flies
The next ensuing year-and dies!
Well were it for the world, if all
Who creep about this earthly ball,
Though shorter lived than most he be,
Were useful in their kind as he.