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A FABLE.

A RAVEN, While with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly pressed,
And on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted,
(A fault philosophers might blame

If quite exempted from the same)
Enjoyed at ease the genial day;
'Twas April as the bumpkins say,
The legislature called it May.

But suddenly a wind as high,

As ever swept a winter sky,

Shook the young leaves about her ears,

And filled her with a thousand fears,

Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,

And spread her golden hopes below. But just at eve the blowing weather, And all her fears were hushed together:

And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,

'Tis over, and the brood is safe;

(For ravens, though as birds of omen

They teach both conjurers and old women

To tell us what is to befall,

Can't prophesy themselves at all.)

The morning came when neighbour Hodge, Who long had marked her airy lodge,

And destined all the treasure there

A gift to his expecting fair,

Climbed like a squirrel to his dray,
And bore the worthless prize away.

MORAL.

"Tis Providence alone secures

In every change both mine and your's:

Safety consists not in escape

From dangers of a frightful shape;
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man, that's strangled by a hair.

Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread,
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.

A COMPARISON.

THE lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Both speed their journey with a restless stream;
The silent pace, with which they steal away,
No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay;
Alike irrevocable both when past,

And a wide ocean swallows both at last.

Though each resemble each in every part,
A difference strikes at length the musing heart;
Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound,
How laughs the land with various plenty crowned!

But time, that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected leaves a dreary waste behind.

ANOTHER.

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

Sweet stream, that winds thro' yonder glade,

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid—

Silent and chaste she steals along,

Far from the world's gay busy throng;

With gentle yet prevailing force,

Intent upon her destined course;

Graceful and useful all she does,

Blessing and blest where'er she goes,
Pure-bosomed as that watery glass,

And heaven reflected in her face.

THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.

ΤΟ

MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON.

MARIA! I have every good

For thee wished many a time,

Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.

To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.

What favour then not yet possessed Can I for thee require,

In wedded love already blest,

To thy whole heart's desire?

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