ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCK MORTON'S BULFINCH. YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red With tears o'er hapless fav'rites shed, O share Maria's grief! Her fav'rite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger's cruel rage?) Assassin'd by a thief. Where Rhenus strays his vines among, The egg was laid from which he sprung; And, though by nature mute, Or only with a whistle blest, Well-taught he all the sounds express'd Of flagelet or flute. LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH. 283 The honours of his ebon poll Were brighter than the sleekest mole, His bosom of the hue, With which Aurora decks the skies, When piping winds shall soon arise, Above, below, in all the house, Well-lattic'd-but the grate, alas! But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, Night veil'd the pole: all seem'd secure: 284 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH. A beast forth sallied on the scout, He, ent'ring at the study-door, And something in the wind Conjectur'd, sniffing round and round, Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, A rat fast clinging to the cage, For, aided both by ear and scent, Right to his mark the monster went Ah, muse! forbear to speak Minute the horrors that ensu'd; His teeth were strong, the cage was wood- LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH. 285 O had he made that too his prey; Might have repaid him well, I wote, Maria weeps the Muses mourn— The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell, THE ROSE. THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r, The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r, The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, And it seem'd to a fanciful view, To weep for the buds it had left with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew. I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with it's owner a while; And the tear, that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile. |