The Cricket, a Harbinger of Good.


Thus thy praise shall be exprest,
Inoffensive, welcome guest!

While the rat is on the scout,

And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest

Ev'ry dish, and spoil the best;

Frisking thus before the fire,

Thou hast all thine heart's desire,


Though in voice and shape they be

Form'd as if akin to thee,

Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are;
Their's is but a summer's song,
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpair'd and shrill and clear,
Melody throughout the year,

Belinda and her Parrot.


Neither night, nor dawn of day,

Puts a period to thy play:

Sing then-and extend thy span

Far beyond the date of man.

Wretched man, whose years are spent

In repining discontent,

Lives not, aged though he be,
Half a span compar'd with thee.



IN painted plumes superbly drest,

A native of the gorgeous east,

By many a billow tost;

Poll gains at length the British shore, Part of the captain's precious storeA present to his toast.

Belinda's Parrot made a Wit.


Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd
To teach him now and then a word,
As Poll can master it;

But 'tis her own important charge
To qualify him more at large,

And make him quite a wit.


Sweet Poll! his doating mistress cries, Sweet Poll! the mimic bird replies,

And calls aloud for sack.

She next instructs him in the kiss; 'Tis now a little one, like Miss,

And now a hearty smack.


At first he aims at what he hears;

And, list'ning close with both his ears,

Just catches at the sound;

But soon articulates aloud,

Much to th' amusement of the crowd,

And stuns the neighbours round.

Belinda and her Bird a well matched Pair.


A querulous old woman's voice

His hum'rous talent next employs

He scolds, and gives the lie.

And now he sings, and now is sick—

Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick;

Poor Poll is like to die!


Belinda and her bird! 'tis rare

To meet with such a well match'd pair,

The language and the tone,

Each character in ev'ry part

Sustain❜d with so much grace and art,

And both in unison.


When children first begin to spell,

And stammer out a syllable,

We think them tedious creatures;

But difficulties soon abate,

When birds are to be taught to prate,
And women are the teachers.

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Он, happy shades-to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me!

How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!


This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.


But fix'd unalterable care

Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness ev'ry where,

And slights the season and the scene.

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