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The seaman with sincere delight
His feather'd shipmates eyes
Scarce less exulting in the sight
Than when he tows a prize.

For seamen much believe in signs,
And from a chance so new,
Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true!

Hail, honour'd land! a desert where
Not even birds can hide,

Yet parent of this loving pair
Whom nothing could divide.

And ye who, rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan,

Were not afraid to plough the brine
In company with man;

For whose lean country much disdain
We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain
But wantonness and wo:

Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove,

And may ye, sometimes landing here,
Instruct us how to love!

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DEAR architect of fine chateaux in air,
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built of stone, or yet of wood,
For back of royal elephant to bear!
Oh, for permission from the skies to share,
Much to my own, though little to thy good,
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!)
A partnership of literary ware!

But I am bankrupt now, and doom'd henceforth
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays, —
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequall'd worth;
But what is commentator's happiest praise?
That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise.

ON

A SPANIEL

CALLED BEAU, KILLING A YOUNG BIRD.

[JULY 15, 1793.]

A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you,
Well fed, and at his ease,

Should wiser be than to pursue
Each trifle that he sees.

But

you have kill'd a tiny bird, Which flew not till to-day,

Against my orders, whom you heard

Forbidding you the prey.

Nor did you kill that you might eat

And ease a doggish pain,

For him, though chased with furious heat, You left where he was slain.

Nor was he of the thievish sort,
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?

BEAU'S REPLY.

SIR, when I flew to seize the bird
In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,
And harder to withstand.

You cried Forbear-but in my breast
A mightier cried, Proceed:
'Twas Nature, sir, whose strong behest
Impell❜d me to the deed.

Yet much as Nature I respect,
I ventured once to break
(As you, perhaps, may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;

And when your linnet on a day,
Passing his prison door,

Had flutter'd all his strength away,
And panting press'd the floor,

Well knowing him a sacred thing,
Not destined to my tooth,

I only kiss'd his ruffled wing,

And lick'd the feathers smooth.

Let my obedience then excuse
My disobedience now,

Nor some reproof yourself refuse
From your aggrieved Bow-wow;

If killing birds be such a crime,
(Which I can hardly see,)
What think you, sir, of killing Time
With verse address'd to me?

ON

RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL

FROM MR HAYLEY.

[OCTOBER, 1793.]

I SHOULD have deem'd it once an effort vain
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain,
But from that error now behold me free,
Since I received him as a gift from thee.

TO MARY.

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[How well this tribute of admiration and attachment was merited a tribute expressive at once of all that is purest, yet most ardent, in affection—appears from the following passage in one of Lady Hesketh's letters to her sister :- "Mrs Unwin is very far from grave: on the contrary, she is cheerful and gay, and laughs, de bon cœur, upon the smallest provocation. Amidst all the little puritanical words which fall from her de tems en tems, she seems to have by nature a great fund of gaiety—great, indeed, must it have been, not to have been totally overcome by the close confinement in which she has lived, and the anxiety she must have undergone for one whom she certainly loves as well as one human being can love another. I will not say she idolizes him, because that she would think wrong, but she certainly seems to possess the truest regard and affection for this excellent creature; and, as I before said, has, in the most literal sense of the word, no will or shadow of inclination but what is his. How she has supported herself as she has done-the constant attendance, day and night, which she has gone through for the last thirteen years-is to me, I confess, incredible! and, in justice to her, I must say, she does it

all with an ease that relieves you from any idea of its being a state of sufferance. She speaks of him in the highest terms; and by her astonishing management, he is never mentioned in Olney but with the highest respect and veneration." The poem was written .n the autumn of 1793.]

THE twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast,

Ah, would that this might be the last,

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,

I see thee daily weaker grow.

My Mary!

'Twas my distress that brought thee.low,

My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused, and shine no more,

My Mary!

For though thou gladly would'st fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

My Mary!

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art

Have wound themselves about this heart,

My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem

Like language utter'd in a dream;

Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,

My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,

My Mary!

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