VII.

His ubi fedatus furor eft, petit utraque nympham,

Qualem inter Veneres Anglia fola parit;

Hanc penés imperium eft, nihil optant amplius, hujus Regnant in nitidis, et fine lite, genis.

THE

NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his fong,
Nor yet at eve his note fufpended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He fpied far off, upon the ground,
A fomething fhining in the dark,

And knew the glow-worm by his fpark;

So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangu'd him thus, right eloquent-
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
As much as I your minstrelsy,

You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to fpoil your fong;
For 'twas the self-fame pow'r divine
Taught you to fing, and me to fhine;
That you with mufic, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his fhort oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Releas'd him, as my story tells,

And found a fupper fomewhere elfe.

Hence jarring fectaries

may learn

Their real int'reft to difcern;

That brother should not war with brother,

And worry and devour each other;

But fing and shine by fweet confent,

Till life's poor tranfient night is spent,
Refpecting in each other's cafe

The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Chriftians best deserve the name

Who ftudiously make peace their aim;
Peace, both the duty and the prize

Of him that creeps and him that flies.

VOTU M.

O matutini rores, auræque falubres,

O nemora, et lætæ rivis felicibus herbæ,
Graminei colles, et amænæ in vallibus umbræ!
Fata modò dederint quas olim in rure paterno
Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi,
Quam vellem ignotus, quod mens mea femper avebat,

Ante larem proprium placidam expectare fenectam,

Tum demùm, exactis non infeliciter annis,

Sortiri tacitum lapidem, aut fub cefpite condi!

ON A GOLDFINCH

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.

I.

TIME was when I was free as air,

The thistles downy feed my fare,

My drink the morning dew;

I perch'd at will on ev'ry spray,

My form genteel, my plumage gay,

My strains for ever new.

But gaudy plumage, fprightly ftrain,

And form genteel, were all in vain,

And of a tranfient date;

For, caught and cag'd, and ftarv'd to death,

In dying fighs my little breath

Soon pafs'd the wiry grate.

III.

Thanks, gentle fwain, for all my woes,

And thanks for this effectual close

And cure of ev'ry ill!

More cruelty could none exprefs;

And I, if you had shown me lefs,

Had been your pris'ner still.

THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE.

THE pine-apples, in triple row,
Were basking hot, and all in blow;
A bee of moft difcerning taste
Perceiv'd the fragrance as he pass'd,
On eager wing the fpoiler came,

And fearch'd for crannies in the frame,

Urg'd his attempt on ev'ry side,

To ev'ry pane his trunk applied;

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