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For, settling on his grated roof,
He chirped and kissed him, giving proof

That he desired no more ;
Nor would forsake his cage at last,
Till gently seized, I shut him fast,

A prisoner as before.

Oh ye, who never knew the joys
Of. Friendship, satisfied with noise,

Fandango, ball, and rout!
Blush, when I tell you how a bird,
A prison with a friend preferred

To liberty without,



THERE is a field, through which I often pass, Thick overspread with mass and silky grass, Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, Where eft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,

Reserved to solace many a neighbouring 'squire,
That'he may follow them through brake and briar,
Contusion hazarding of neck or spine,
Which rural gentlemen call sport divine.
A narrow brook, by rushy banks concealed,
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field;
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head,
But now wear crests of oven-wood instead;
And where the land slopes to its watery bourn,
Wide yawns a gulph beside a ragged thorn;
Bricks line the sides, but shivered long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow scooped, I judge in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.

Not yet the hawthorn re her berries red,
With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed;
Nor autumn yet bad brushed from every spray,
With her chill band, the mellow leaves away;
Bat corn was housed, and beans were in the stack,
Now therefore issued forth the spotted pack,
With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats
With a whole gamut filled of heavenly notes,
For which, alas ! my destiny severe,
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear.

The sun, accomplishing his early march, His lamp now planted on heaven's topmost arch, When, exercise and air my only aim, And heedless whither, to that field I came, Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found

Or with the high-raised horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick* and all Dingle-derry * rang.
Sheep grazed the field; some with soft bosom

The herb as soft, while nibbling strayed the rest;
Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook,
Struggling, detained in many a petty nook.
All seemed so peaceful, that from them conveyed
To me, their peace by kind contagion spread.

But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burst appeared, The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that grazed, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round But, recollecting with a sudden thought, Cagain; The flight in circles urged advanced them nought, They gathered close around the old pit's brink, And thought again--but knew not what to think.

The man to solitude accustomed long, Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees, Have speech for him, and 'understood with ease; After long drought, when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all: Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, How.glad they catch the largess of the skies;

* Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq.

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But, with precision nicer still, the mind
He scans of every locomotive kind;
Birds of all feather, beasts of every name,
That serve mankind, or shụn them, wild or tamc;
The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears
Have all articulation in his ears;
He spells them true by intuition's light,
And needs no glossary to set him right.

This truth premised was needful as a text,
To win due credence to what follows next.

Awhile they mused; surveying every face, Thou hadst supposed them of superior race; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combined, Stamped on each countenance such marks of nind, That sage they seemed, ás lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, matbematic truths; When thus, a mutton, statelier than the rest, A ram, the ewes and wethers sad, addressed.

Friends! we have lived too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, 80 worthy to be feared. Could I believe that winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prison-house below arise, With all these hideous howlings to the skies, I could be much composed, nor should appear For such a cause to feel the slightest fear. Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolled All night, we resting quiet in the fold;

Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
I could expound the melancholy tone;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
The ass; for he, we know, bas lately strayed,
And being lost perhaps, and wandering wide,
Might be supposed to clamour for a guide.
But ab! those dreadful yells what soul can hear,
That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them, doubtless, brazen-clawed
And fanged with brass the dæmons are abroad;
I hold it therefore wisest and most fit,
That, life to save, we leap into the pit.

Him answered then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.

How leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave? For can we find it less ? 'Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there, we burst: Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small; For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not.' Be it Dapple's bray, Or be not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of dæmons uttered, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear We have at least commodious standing here. Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast From earth or hell, we can but plupge at last,

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