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At length a Bulfinch, who could boast

More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, op'ning wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, filence publicly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind.

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we meet i

I fear we shall have winter yet.

A Finch, whofe tongue knew no control,
With golden wing and fatin poll,

A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied.
Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
Oppofite in the apple-tree,

By his good-will would keep us fingle

Till yonder heav'n and earth fhall mingle,
Or (which is likelier to befall)

Till death exterminate us all.

1 marry without more ado,

My dear Dick Redcap, what fay you?

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning fhort round, ftrutting and fideling, Attefted, glad, his approbation

Of an immediate conjugation.



Their fentiments fo well exprefs'd,
Influenc'd mightily the rest,

All pair'd, and each pair built a neft.
But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves came on not quite fo faft,
And destiny, that fometimes bears
An aspect stern on `man's affairs,
Not altogether fmil'd on theirs.
The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,
Now shifted east and east by north.
Bare trees and fhrubs but ill, you know,
Could fhelter them from rain or fnow;
Stepping into their nefts, they paddled,
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled
Soon ev'ry father bird and mother

Grew quarrelfome, and peck'd each other,

Parted without the least regret,

Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd, in future, to be wiser,
Than to neglect a good adviser.


Miffes the tale that I relate

This leffon feems to carry

Choose not alone a proper mate,
But proper time to marry.



THERE is a field through which I often pafs,
Thick overspread with moss and filky grafs,
Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood,
Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,
Referv'd to folace many a neighb'ring 'fquire,
That he may follow them through brake and briar,
Contufion hazarding of neck or spine,
Which rural gentlemen call sport divine.
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd,
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field;
Oaks interfperfe it, that had once a head,
But now wear crefts of oven-wood instead;
And where the land flopes to its wat'ry bourn,
Wide yawns a gulph beside a ragged thorn
Bricks line the fides, but fhiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow fcoop'd, I judge in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.

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Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
With which the fieldfare, wintry gueft, is fed;
Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray,
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away;
But corn was hous'd, and beans were in the stack,
Now, therefore, iffued forth the spotted pack,
With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats
With a whole gamut fill'd of heav'nly notes,
For which, alas!"my destiny severe,

Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear.
The fun, accomplishing his early march,
His lamp now planted on heav'n's topmost arch,
When, exercise and air my only aim,

And heedlefs whither, to that field I came,

Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound

Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found,
Or with the high-rais'd horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick and all Dingle-derry * rang.

Sheep graz'd the field; fome with soft bosom press'd
The herb as foft, while nibbling stray'd the reft;
Nor noife was heard but of the hafty brook,
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook.
All feem'd fo peaceful, that from them convey'd
To me, their peace by kind contagion spread.

Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Efq

But when the huntsman, with diftended check,
'Gan make his inftrument of music speak,
And from within the wood that crash was heard,
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd,
The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd,
All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz'd,
Admiring, terrified, the novel strain,

Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round again;

But, recollecting with a sudden thought,

That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought,

They gather'd clofe around the old pit's brink,
And thought again-but knew not what to think.
The man to folitude accuftom'd long,
Perceives in ev'ry thing that lives a tongue;
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees,
Have speech for him, and understood with ease;
After long drought, when rains abundant fall,
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all;
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largeness of the skies;
But, with precifion nicer ftill, the mind

He scans of ev'ry loco-motive kind;

Birds of all feather, beasts of ev'ry name,

That ferve mankind, or fhun them, wild or tame;
The looks and geftures of their griefs and feara
Have, all, articulation in his ears;

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