ODE TO APOLLO. ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. PATRON of all those luckless brains, Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, Why, stooping from the noon of day, Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stolen away Upborne into the viewless air, It floats a vapour now, Phoebus, if such be thy design, Give wit, that what is left may shine PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A FABLE. I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,* 'Tis clear, that they were always able A story of a cock and bull, Must have a most uncommon skull. It chanced then on a winter's day, To forestall sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove, And with much twitter and much chatter, At length a Bulfinch, who could boast A moment's liberty to speak; My friends! be cautious how ye treat The subject upon which we meet; I fear we shall have winter yet. A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing, and satin poll, 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, against the evidence of his senses? 188 PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried By his good will would keep us single My dear Dick Redcap, what say you? Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Of an immediate conjugation. All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, Could shelter them from rain or snow; Stepping into their nests, they paddled, Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled; Soon every 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 neglect a good adviser. MORAL. Misses! the tale that I relate THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. NO FABLE. THE noon was shady, and soft airs My spaniel, prettiest of his race, And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs* adorn'd with every grace Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, Now starting into sight, Pursued the swallow o'er the meads It was the time when Ouse display'd With cane extended far I sought But still the prize, though nearly caught, Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains To comprehend the case. But with a cherup clear and strong, I thence withdrew, and follow'd long * Sir Robert Gunning's daughters. My ramble ended, I return'd; The floating wreath again discern'd, I saw him with that lily cropp'd My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd Charm'd with the sight, The world, I cried, Shall hear of this thy deed: But chief myself I will enjoin, To show a love as prompt as thine |