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TO JOHN JOHNSTON, ESQ.,

ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUST OF HOMER

KINSMAN beloved, and as a son, by me!
When I behold the fruit of thy regard,

The sculptured form of my old favourite bard,
I reverence feel for him, and love for thee:
Joy too and grief-much joy that there should be,
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward
With some applause my bold attempt and hard,
Which others scorn; critics by courtesy.
The grief is this, that, sunk in Homer's mine,
I lose my precious years, now soon to fail,

Handling his gold, which, howsoe'er it shine,

Proves dross when balanced in the Christian scale.

Be wiser thou-like our forefather Donne,
Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone.

May 1793.

TO A YOUNG FRIEND,

ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE.

IF Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found
While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around,
Might fitly represent the church, endow'd
With heavenly gifts to heathens not allow'd;
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high,"
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry:
Heaven grant us half the omen-may we see
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee!

May 1793.

ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING A YOUNG BIRD.
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?

July 15, 1793.

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!

INSCRIPTION

FOR THE TOMB OF MR HAMILTON.

PAUSE here and think: a monitory rhyme
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.
Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein;

Seems it to say-" Health here has long to reign;"

Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye

That beams delight? a heart untaught to sigh?
Yet fear. Youth, ofttimes healthful and at ease,
Anticipates a day it never sees;

And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud
Exclaims "Prepare thee for an early shroud."

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.

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!

O 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 unequalled birth!

But what his commentator's happiest praise!
That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise.

June 29, 1793.

ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE.

THE suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse,
Whom all this elegance might well seduce;
Nor can our censure on the husband fail,
Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all.
September 1793.

TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA,
ON HIS TRANSLATING THE AUTHOR'S SONG ON A ROSE INTO ITALIAN VERSF
My rose, Gravina, blooms anew,

And steep'd not now in rain,
But in Castilian streams by you,
Will never fade again.

1793.

EPITAPH ON A HARE.

HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue.
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo;

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack hare.

Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread
And milk, and oats, and straw;
Thistles, or lettuces instead,

With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,
On pippins' russet peel,
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Sliced carrot pleased him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gamble like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear,

But most before approaching showers,
Or when a storm drew near.

Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,

Dozing out all his idle noons,

And every night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile

My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.

But now beneath this walnut shade
He finds his long last home,

And waits, in snug concealment laid,
Till gentler Puss shall come.

He, still more aged, feels the shocks,
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.

THE BIRD'S NEST.

A TALE*

IN Scotland's realms, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;

But where, however bleak the view,

Some better things are found;

*This tale is founded on an article which appeared in the Buckinghamshire Herald, Saturday, June 1, 1793:-" Glasgow, May 23. In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food

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