POEMS ADDED BY THE AUTHOR IN SUBSEQUENT EDITIONS OF HIS WORKS. ON THE DEATH OF MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. YE Nymphs, if e'er your eyes were red Where Rhenus strays his vines among The honours of his ebon poll With which Aurora decks the skies, Above, below, in all the house, No cat had leave to dwell; Well latticed, but the grate, alas ! The swains their baskets make. Night veiled the pole; all seemed secure; When, led by instinct sharp and sure, Subsistence to provide, A beast forth sallied on the scout, Long backed, long tailed, with whiskered snout, And badger-coloured hide. He, entering at the study door, And something in the wind Conjectured, sniffing round and round, Better than all the books he found, Food chiefly for the mind. Just then, by adverse fate impressed, For, aided both by ear and scent, He left poor Bully's beak. Oh, had he made that too his prey! Fast stuck within his own. Maria weeps, the Muses mourn ;— On Thracian Hebrus' side THE ROSE. THE rose had been washed, just washed in a shower, The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower, The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet, To weep for the buds it had left with regret I hastily seized it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned; 66 And such," I exclaimed, "is the pitiless part Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart "This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloomed with its owner awhile; ODE TO APOLLO. ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. PATRON of all those luckless brains That, to the wrong side leaning, Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, Why, stooping from the noon of day, Upborne into the viewless air, Impelled through regions dense and rare Ordained, perhaps, ere summer flies, Illustrious drop! and happy then Phoebus, if such be thy design, Give wit, that what is left may shine I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau 'Tis clear that they were always able To hold discourse, at least in fable; And even the child who knows no better Than to interpret by the letter A story of a cock and bull, Must have a most uncommon skull. It chanced then on a winter's day, But warm and bright and calm as May, To forestall sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove, And with much twitter and much chatter Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bullfinch, who could boast * It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of decepBut what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses? tion. 66 'My friends! be cautious how ye treat The subject upon which we meet; I fear we shall have winter yet." A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing and satin poll, A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried By his good will would keep us single I marry without more ado; My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?" Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting, and sidling, Attested, glad, his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. Their sentiments so well expressed All paired, and each pair built a nest. But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other, Except that they had ever met, And learnt in future to be wiser MORAL. Misses! the tale that I relate |