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These, these are feelings truly fine,
His censure reach'd them as he dealt it,
The NIGHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM.
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Did you admire my lamp, quoth he,
THE DOG AND THE WATERLILY. 223
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Those Christians best deserve the name,
THE DOG AND THE WATERLILY.
The noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
I wander'd on his side.
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree
That spaniel found for me),
Now starting into sight,
With scarce a slower flight.
· It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown;
And one I wish'd my own.
With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.
Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains
With fix'd considerate face,
To comprehend the case.
But with a cherup clear and strong,
Dispersing all his dream,
The windings of the stream.,
My ramble ended, I return’d:
Beau, trotting far before,
And plunging left the shore.
I saw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd
The treasure at my feet.
Charm’d with the sight, the world, I cried,
Shall hear of this thy deed : My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed;
ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU.
Awake at duty's call,
To Him who gives me all.,
ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU,
Killing a Young Bird.,
1793. A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you,
Well fed, and at his ease,
Each trifle that he sees.
Which flew not till to-day,
Forbidding you the prey..
And ease a doggish pain,
You left where he was slain.
Or one whom blood allures, But innocent was all his sport
Whom you have torn for yours. My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can, I see you, after all my pains,
So much resemble Man?
In spite of your command,
And harder to withstand.
You cried—Forbearbut in my breast
A mightier cried-Proceed'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest
Impell’d me to the deed.
I ventured once to break
Her precept for your sake;
Passing his prison door,
And, panting, press’d the floor,
Not destined to my tooth,
And lick'd the feathers smooth,
My disobedience now,
From your aggrieved Bow-wow.
(Which I can hardly see), What think you, Sir, of killing Time,
With verse address’d to me?