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Awaking, how could I but muse

At what fuch a dream fhould betide?

But foon my ear caught the glad news,

Which ferved my weak thought for a guideThat Britannia, renowned o'er the waves For the hatred, she ever has shown, To the black-fceptered rulers of flaves, Refolves to have none of her own.

THE

NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered 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 spark ;
So, ftooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued 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 spoil your fong;
For 'twas the felf-fame power divine
Taught you to fing, and me to shine;

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.

297

That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The fongfter heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my ftory tells,
And found a fupper fomewhere else,
Hence jarring fectaries may learn
Their real intereft to difcern;

That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But fing and shine by sweet consent,

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

The gifts of nature and of grace.

Those Chriftians beft deserve the name, Who ftudiously make peace their aim; Peace both the duty and the prize

Of him that creeps and him that flies.

ON A GOLDFINCH

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.

I.

TIME was when I was free as air,
The thiftles downy feed my fare,
My drink the morning dew;
I perched at will on every spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new.

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But gaudy plumage, sprightly ftrain,

And form genteel, were all in vain,

And of a tranfient date;

For caught and caged, and ftarved to death,

In dying fighs my little breath

Soon paffed the wiry grate.

III.

Thanks, gentle fwain, for all my woes,

And thanks for this effectual clofe,

And cure of every ill!

More cruelty could none express;
And I, if you had shown me lefs,

Had been your prisoner ftill.

THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE.

THE pine-apples in triple row,
Were basking hot, and all in blow;
A bee of moft discerning tafte
Perceived the fragrance as he paffed,
On eager wing the spoiler came,

And fearched for crannies in the frame,
Urged his attempt on every fide,

To every pane his trunk applied;
But ftill in vain, the frame was tight,
And only pervious to the light:
Thus having wafted half the day,
He trimmed his flight another way.
Methinks, I faid, in thee I find
The fin and madness of mankind.
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Confumes his foul with vain defires;
Folly the spring of his pursuit,
And disappointment all the fruit.
While Cynthio ogles, as the paffes,

The nymph between two chariot glaffes,
She is the pine-apple, and he

The filly unsuccessful bee.

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