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I SAW HIM WITH THAT LILY CROPP'D

IMPATIENT SWIM TO MEET

MY QUICK APPROACH. AND SOON HE DROPP'D
THE TREASURE AT MY FEET.

Vol I.

LONDON, PUBLISHED JUNE 1.1810.BY JOHN SHARPE PICCADILLY.

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My ramble ended, I return'd;

Beau, trotting far before,

The floating wreath again discern'd,
And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried,
Shall hear of this thy deed:

My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed:

But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.

THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND

SENSITIVE PLANT.

AN Oyster, cast upon the shore,
Was heard, though never heard before,
Complaining in a speech well worded,
And worthy thus to be recorded-

Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell
For ever in my native shell;

Ordain'd to move when others please,

Not for my own content or ease;
But toss'd and buffetted about,

Now in the water and now out.
"Twere better to be born a stone,
Of ruder shape, and feeling none,
Than with a tenderness like mine,
And sensibilities so fine!

I envy that unfeeling shrub,
Fast-rooted against ev'ry rub.
The plant he meant grew not far off,
And felt the sneer with scorn enough;

Was hurt, disgusted, mortified,

And with asperity replied.

When, cry the botanists, and stare, Did plants call'd sensitive grow there? No matter when—a poet's muse is

To make them grow just where she chooses.
You shapeless nothing in a dish,

You that are but almost a fish,
I scorn your coarse insinuation,
And have most plentiful occasion,
To wish myself the rock I view,
Or such another dolt as you:

For

many a grave and learned clerk, And many a gay unletter'd spark, With curious touch examines me,

If I can feel as well as he;

And when I bend, retire, and shrink,
Says-Well, 'tis more than one would think!
Thus life is spent (oh fie upon't!)

In being touch'd, and crying-Don't!
A poet, in his ev'ning walk,

O'erheard and check'd this idle talk.

And your fine sense, he said, and yours,
Whatever evil it endures,

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