Sidor som bilder

Must be decided by the worth
Of that which call'd his ardour forth.
Trifles pursu'd, whate'er th' event,
Must caufe him shame or discontent;
A vicious object ftill is worse,
Successful there, he wins a curse ;
But he, whom e'en in life's last stage
Endeavours laudable engage,
Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And sense of having well design'd;
And if, ere he attain his end,
His sun precipitate descend,
A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompense his mere intent.
No virtuous wish can bear a date
Either too early or too late.


The green-house is my

summer-seat; My shrubs dispłac'd from that retreat

Enjoy'd the open air;
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,

Liv'd happy pris'ners there.

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They sang, as blithe as finches fing
That flutter loose on golden wing,

And frolic where they litt:
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,

And, therefore, never miss d.

Bat nature works in ev'ry breast;
Infina is never quite suppress'd;

And Dick felt some desires,
Which, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain

A pass between his wires.


open windows seem'd to invite The freeman to a farewell flight;

But Tom was still confin'd;
And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too gen'rous and sincere

To leave his friend behind.

For, settling on his grated roof,
He chirp'd and kiss'd him, giving proof

That he desir'd no more; Nor would forsake his cage at last, 'Till gently seiz’d, I thut him faft,

A pris'ner as before.

Oh ye, who never knew the joys.
Of Friend thip, fatisfied with noise,

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

To liberty without,

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I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau*,
If birds confabulate or no;
'Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least, in fable;,,
And ev’n 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 chanc'd ther, on a winter's day,
But warm and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestall sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,

• 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 deception., But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, againft the evidence of his senses?

And with much twitter and much chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bulfinch, who could boaft
More years and wisdom than the molt,
Entreated, op'ning wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, filence publicly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind.

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subjed 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
What marriage means, thus pert 'replied.

Methinks the gentleman, quoth fhe, Opposite in the apple-tree, By his good will, would keep us fingle Till yonder heav'n and earth shall mingle, Or (which is likelier to befall) Till death exterminate us all. I marry

without more ado, My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?

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