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None here is happy but in part:
Full bliss is bliss divine;
And doubtless one in thine.
Which Fate shall brightly gild, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may)
I wish it all fulfill’d.
ODE TO APOLLO.
That, to the wrong side leaning,
And little or no meaning:
That water all the nations,
In constant exhalations.
Too covetous of drink,
A poet's drop of ink?
It floats a vapour now,
By all the winds that blow.
Combin'd with millions' more, To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Beyond the happiest lot,
Phoebus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
A FABLE. 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 e’en 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 then on a winter's day, But warm, and bright, and calm as May, The birds, conceiving a design To forestal sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse,
grove, Assembled on affairs of love, And with much twitter and much chatter, Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bulfinch, who could boast More years and wisdom than the most, Entreated, op’ning wide his beak, A moment's liberty to speak; And, silence publicly enjoin'd, Deliver'd briefly thus his mind :
My friends! be cautious how ye treat The subject upon which we meet; I fear we shall have winter yet.”
It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be with held from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
“Methinks the gentleman," quoth she,
Opposite in the apple-tree,
without more ado,
Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting and sideling, 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 nest.
But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, And Destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smil'd 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 rain or snow, Stepping into their nests, 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 neglect a good adviser.
2 1 3
This lesson seems to carry-
time to marry.
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
I wander'd on his side.
And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs, * adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
That spaniel found for me)
Now starting into sight,
With scarce a slower flight.
His lilies newly blown,
And one I wish'd my own.
To steer it close land;
Escap'd my eager hand.
With fixed, consid'rate face,
f* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.