314 SPARROWS, SELF-DOMESTICATED. Who clips in length the brazen thread A fifth prepares, exact and round, And, with his mallet and his file Now, therefore, Edipus! declare Its purpose with so much ado, IX. SPARROWS, SELF-DOMESTICATED IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. NONE ever shared the social feast, Or as an inmate or a guest, Beneath the celebrated dome, Where once Sir Isaac had his home, SPARROWS, SELF-DOMESTICATED. Who saw not (and with some delight 315 X. FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. As in her ancient mistress' lap They gave each other many a tap, But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, And, with protruded claws, Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm, Mere wantonness the cause. At once, resentful of the deed, She shakes her to the ground With many a threat, that she shall bleed But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest; It was a venial stroke: XI. INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. SWEET bird, whom the winter constrains And seldom another it can To seek a retreat while he reigns In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man, INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. 317 Who never can seem to intrude, Though in all places equally free, Come, oft as the season is rude, Thou art sure to be welcome to me. At sight of the first feeble ray That pierces the clouds of the east, My windows shall show thee a feast: Thou wilt pay me with many a song. Then, soon as the swell of the buds Or where it shall please thee to sing: Only pay as thou pay'dst me before. Thus music must needs be confess'd Unchangeable friendship and love? That can be delighted by sound, Or boasts any musical powers? 27* XII. STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. THE shepherd touch'd his reed; sweet Philomel Essay'd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain, And treasuring, as on her ear they fell, The numbers, echo'd note for note again. The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before And soon (for various was his tuneful store) She dared the task, and, rising as he rose, With all the force that passion gives inspired, Thus strength, not skill,. prevail'd. O fatal strife, And he may wish that he had never won! XIII. ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1728. ANCIENT dame, how wide and vast, To a race like ours, appears, Rounded to an orb at last, All thy multitude of years! |