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On thy distorted root, with hearers none,
One man alone, the father of us all,
quill, or tasked his mind
ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S-BOWER,
DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT.
T For Mary and for me,
HRIVE, gentle plant ! and weave a bow'r And deck with many a splendid flow'r
Thy foliage large and free.
(If truly I divine)
Some future day th' illustrious head
Of him who made thee mine.
Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And Envy seize the bay, Affirming none so fit to crown
Such honour'd brows as they, Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,
And with convincing pow'r; For why should not the Virgin's Friend
Be crown'd with Virgin's Bow'r ?
AN EPITAPH. 1792.
Blood himself, yet many slew;
TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM,
ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE, MADE BY
HERSELF, MAY 4, 1793.
Y gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
and thou no more
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here ;
For richest rogues to win it ;
The best things kept within it.
TO MRS. UNWIN.
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright; There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
N Scotland's realm, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;
Some better things are found ;
For husband there and wife may boast
Their union undefiled,
As hedge-rows in the wild ;
In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare,
The hist’ry chanced of late-
A chaffinch and his mate.
The spring drew near, each felt a breast
With genial instinct fill'd :
But found not where to build.
The heaths uncover'd and the moors,
Except with snow and sleet,
Could yield them no retreat.
Long time a breeding-place they sought,
Till both grew vex'd and tired ; At length a ship arriving brought
The good so long desired.
A ship?—could such a restless thing
Afford them place of rest? Or was the merchant charged to bring
The homeless birds a nest ?
Hush-silent hearers profit most
This racer of the sea Proved kinder to them than the coast,
It served them with a tree.
But such a tree ! 'twas shaven deal,
The tree they call a mast, And had a hollow with a wheel
Through which the tackle pass'd.
Within that cavity aloft
Their roofless home they fixed, Form'd with materials neat and soft,
Bents, wool, and feathers mixt.
Four iv'ry eggs soon pave its floor,
With russet specks bedight-
And lessens to the sight.
The mother-bird is gone to sea,
As she had changed her kind But goes the male ? Far wiser, he
Is doubtless left behind i