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Which Mary to Anna convey'd ;
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,
I snapp'd it; it fell to the ground.
Some act by the delicate mind,
Already to sorrow resign'd.
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile ;
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
PATRON of all those luckless brains
That, to the wrong side leaning,
And little or no meaning;
Ah, why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
In constant exhalations;
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stolen away
A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air,
It floats a vapour now, Impell’d through regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow;
Ordain'd perhaps ere summer flies,
Combined with millions more, To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
So soon to be forgot !
To place it in thy bow, Give wit, that what is left
shine With equal grace below.
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
TO MRS. (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCKMORTON.
MARIA! I have every good
For thee wish'd many a time, Both sad and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possess'd
Can I for thee require,
To thy whole heart's desire ?
None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine;
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish, on some fair future day
Which Fate shall brightly gild, ("Tis blameless, be it what it may,)
I wish it all fulfill’d.
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
I Shall not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau',
It chanced then on a winter's day,
and wisdom than the most,
My friends! be cautious how ye treat
It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals, should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses ?
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
without more ado; My dear Dick Redcap, what
say you ?
But though the birds were thus in haste,