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Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains
With fix'd considerate face, And puzzling set his puppy
Dispersing all his dream,
The windings of the stream.
Beau trotting far beforc,
And plunging left the shore.
Impatient swiin to meet
feet. Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried,
Shall hear of this thy deed : My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superiour breed :
Awake at duty's call,
To him who gives me all.
THE POET, THE OYSTER
AN Oyster, cast upon the shore, Was hcard, though never heard before,
Complaining in a speech well worded.
Ah, hapless wretch ! condemned to dwell
When, cry the botanists, and stare, , Did plants callid sensitive grow thero? No matter when
a poet's muse is, To make them grow just where she chooses
You shapeless nothing in a dish, You that are but almost a fish, I scorn your coarse insinuation, And have' most plentiful occasion, To wish myself the rock I view, Or such another dolt as you: For many a grave and learned clerk, A many a gay unlotter'd spark, With curious touch examines me, If I can feel as well as ho; And when I bend, retiro, and shrink, Says-Well, 'tis more than one would think ! Thus life is spent, (oh fie upon't !) In being touch'd, and crying-Don't !
A poet in his ev'ning walk, O'erhoard, and check'd this idlo talk
And your fine sense, he said, and yours,
You, in your grotto work enclos'd,
And as for you, my Lady Squeamish,
His censure reach'd them as he dealt it, And each by shrinking show'd he felt it.
WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION.
1. OH happy shades to me unblest !
Friendly to peace, but not to me! How ill tlio scene, that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree'
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
III. But fix'd, unalterable Care
Foregoes not what she feels within,
peace possess'd these silent bow'rs, Her animating smile withdrawn, Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs
This moss-grown alley, musing, slow;
Alike admonish not to roam ;
And thoso of sorrows yet to come.
THE WINTER NOSEGAY
To the delicate growth of our isle,
And winter is deck'd with a smile VOL. I
See, Mary, what beauties I bring
From the shelter of that sunny shed, Where the flow’rs have the charms of the spring, Though abroad they are frozen and dead,
II. 'Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets,
Where Flora is still in her prime, A fortress to which she retreats
From the cruel assaults of the clime While earth wears a mantle of snow,
Those pinks are as fresh and as gay
The frowns of a sky so severe ;.
Through many a turbulent year. The charms of the late blowing rose
Seem'd grac'd with a livelier huc, And the winter of sorrow best shows,
The truth of a friend such as you.
NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED
THE Lady thus address'd her spouse-