Sidor som bilder

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, ttrutting and fideling, Attested, glad, his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. Their sentiments so well express'd, Influenc'd mightily the rest, All pair’d, and each pair built a neft.

But though the birds were thus in haste, The leáves came on not quite so fast, And deftiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether fmild on theirs. The wind, of late breath'd gently forth, Now shifted east and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from wind or snow, Stepping into their nefts, they paddled, Themselves were chill’d, their eggs were addled; Soon ev'ry father bird and mother Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other, Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met, And learn'd, in future, to be wiser, "Than to negle& a good adviser.


Mifles! the tale that I relate

This leffon seems to carry Choose not alone a proper mate, But proper

time to marry.




There is a field through which I often pass,
Thick overspread with moss and filky grass,
Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood,
Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,
Reserv'd to solace many a neighb'ring '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 conceald,
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 flopes to its wat'ry bourn,
Wide yawns a golph beside a ragged thorn;
Bricks line the sides, but fhiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow scoop'd, I judge in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.

Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
With which the fieldfare, wintry guesi, is fed;
Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray,
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away;
But corn was hous'd, 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 fill’d of heav'nly 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 heav'n's topmost arch,
When, exercise and air my only aim,
And heedless whither, to that field I came,

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Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found,
Or with the high-rais d horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick * and all Dingle-derry * rang
Sheep graz'd the field; fome with soft bosom

The herb, as foft, while nibbling stray'd the rest ;
Nor noise was heard but of the hafty brook,
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook.
All seem'd so peaceful, that from them convey'd
To me, their peace by kind contagion spread.

But when the huntsman, with diftended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burft appear'd, The theep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz’d, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round

again; But, recollecting with a sudden thought, That fight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought,

* Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esg.


They gather'd clofe around the old pit's brink,
And thought again--but knew not what to think.

The man to folitude accustom'd long,
Perceives in ev'ry 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 flow'rs rejoicing all;
Knows what the frefhness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largeness of the tkies;
But, with precision nicer still, the mind
He scans of ev'ry loco-motive kind;
Birds of all feather, beafts of ev'ry name,
That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame;
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 gloffary to set him right.

This truth premis'd was needful as a text,
To win due credence to what fallows next.

Awhile they mus'd; surveying ev'ry face,
Thou hadft suppos'd them of superior race;
Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd,
Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind,

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