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Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught he all the sounds express'd
Of flagelet or flute.

The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the sleekest mole;
His bosom of the hue
With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise,
To sweep away the dew,

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214 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH,

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
On props of smoothest-shaven wood,
Large-built and lattic’d well.

Well-lattic’d—but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried,
The swains their baskets make.
Night veil'd the pole, all seem’d secure :
When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout,
* And badger-colour'd hide.

He, ent’ring at the study door,
Its ample area ‘gan explore;
And something in the wind
Conjectur'd, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
A dream disturb’d poor Bully's rest;
In sleep he seem'd to view

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LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH. 215

A rat fast clinging to the cage,
And, screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went—
Ah, muse ! forbear to speak
Minute the horrours that ensu’d;
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood-
He left poor Bully’s beak.

O had he made that too his prey;
That beak whence issued many a lay
Of such mellifluous tone,
Might have repaid him well, I wate,
For silencing so sweet a throat,
Fast stuck within his own.

Maria weeps—the Muses mourn—
So when, by Bacchanalians torn,
On Thracian Hebrus’ side
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell,
His head alone remain’d to tell
The cruel death he died.

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THE ROSE.

THE Rose had been wash'd, just wash’d in a show’r
Which Mary to Anna convey’d,

The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r,
And weigh’d down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill’d, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

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And such, I exclaim’d, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,

Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign'd.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner a while ;

And the tear, that is wip'd with a little address,
May be follow’d perhaps by a smile.

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THE DOVES:

I. REAS’NING at ev'ry step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, While meaner things, whom instinct leads, Are rarely known to stray. II. One silent eve I wander'd late, . And heard the voice of love; The turtle thus address'd her mate, And sooth'd the list’ning dove : III. Our mutual bond of faith and truth No time shall disengage, Those blessings of our early youth Shall cheer our latest age : IV. While innocence without disguise, And constancy sincere, Shall fill the circles of those eyes, And mine can read them there; V Those ills, that wait on all below, Shall ne'er be felt by me, Or gently felt, and only so, As being shar'd with thee. VOL. I. 20

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