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No-Soon as from the shore he saw
The winged mansion move, He flew to reach it, by the law
Of never-failing love.
Then perching at his consort's side,
Was briskly borne along, The billows and the blast defied,
And cheer'd her with a song.
The seaman with sincere delight
His feather'd shipmates eyes, Scarce less exulting in the sight
Than when he tows a prize.
For seamen much believe in signs,
And from a chance so new Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true !
Hail, honour'd land ! a desert where
Not even birds can hide, Yet parent of this loving pair
Whom nothing could divide.
And ye who, rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan, Were not afraid to plough the brine
In company with man.
For whose lean country much disdain
We English often show, Yet from a richer nothing gain
But wantonness and woe;
Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove,
Instruct us how to love !
ON A SPANIEL CALLED “BEAU” KILLING
A YOUNG BIRD.
Well-fed, and at his ease,
Each trifle that he sees.
But you have kill'd a tiny bird,
Which flew not till to-day,
Forbidding you the prey.
And ease a doggish pain,
You left where he was slain.
Nor was he of the thievish sort,
Or one whom blood allures,
Whom you have torn for yours.
My dog, what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can,
So much resemble Man ?
IR, when I flew to seize the bird,
In spite of your command,
And harder to withstand.
You cried-forbear—but in my breast
A mightier cried-proceed'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest
Impell’d me to the deed.
I ventured once to break
Her precept for your sake;
Passing his prison door,
And panting pressed the floor,
Not destined to my tooth,
And lick'd the feathers smooth.
obedience then excuse My disobedience now, Nor some reproof yourself refuse
From your aggrieved Bow-wow. If killing birds be such a crime
(Which I can hardly see), What think you, Sir, of killing time
With verse addressed to me ?
HE twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast, Ah, would that this might be the last !
Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more,
My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream : Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light,
For could I view nor them nor thee,
My Mary! Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st,
My Mary! And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still,
My Mary! But ah, by constant heed I know, How oft the sadness that I show, Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary! And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
THE FAITHFUL BIRD.
HE greenhouse is my summer seat;
Enjoyed the open air ;