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Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade,
(If truly I divine,) Some future day the illustrious head
Of him who made thee mine. Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And Envy seize the Bay,
Such honour'd brows as they,
And with convincing power ;
Be crown'd with Virgin's Bower ?
TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM,
RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE, MADE BY HERSELF.
May 4, 1793.
My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
Than plaything for a nurse,
I thank thee for my purse.
For richest rogues to win it;
The best things kept within it.
FOR AN HERMITAGE IN THE AUTHOR'S GARDEN.
This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears,
TO MRS. UNWIN.
MARY! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew,
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
may record thy worth with honour due,
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
A chronicle of actions just and bright; There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. TO JOHN JOHNSON,
ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER.
Kinsman beloved, and as a son, by me !
When I behold this fruit of thy regard,
The sculptured form of my old favourite bard,
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward
With some applause my bold attempt and hard,
I lose my precious years now soon to fail,
Proves dross, when balanced in the Christian scale.
TO A YOUNG FRIEND,
ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN
HAD FALLEN THERE.
IF Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found,
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high,
In Scotland's realm, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;
Some better things are found;
For husband there and wife
As hedge-rows in the wild;
In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare
The history chanced of late,-
A chaffinch and his mate.
The spring drew near, each felt a breast
With genial instinct fillid;
But found not where to build.
The heaths uncover'd and the moors
Except with snow and sleet,
Could yield them no retreat.
Long time a breeding-place they sought,
Till both grew vex'd and tired; At length a ship arriving brought
The good so long desired.
A ship ?—could such a restless thing
Afford them place of rest ? Or was the merchant charged to bring
The homeless birds a nest ?
Hush !-silent hearers profit most,
This racer of the sea Proved kinder to them than the coast,
It served them with a tree.
But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal,
The tree they call a mast, And had a hollow with a wheel
Through which the tackle pass’d.
Within that cavity aloft
Their roofless home they fix’d, Form'd with materials neat and soft,
Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd.
Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor,
With russet specks bedight; The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore,
And lessens to the sight.
The mother-bird is gone to sea,
As she had changed her kind; But goes
the male ? Far wiser he Is doubtless left behind.