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ON THE DEATH
MRS. (now LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH.
Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
O share Maria's grief!
Assassin'd by a thief.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
And, though by nature mute,
Of flageolet or flute.
His bosom of the hue
To sweep away the dew.
No cat had leave to dwell;
Large built, and latticed well.
Well-latticed-but the grate, alas !
For Bully's plumage' sake,
The swains their baskets make.
LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. 173
Night veil'd the pole, all seem'd secure :
Subsistence to provide,
And badger-colour'd hide.
And something in the wind Conjectured, sniffing round and round, Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress’d,
In sleep he seem'd to view
Awoke, and found it true.
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Ah, muse! forbear to speak
He left poor Bully's beak.
O had he made that too his prey;
Of such mellifluous tone,
Fast stuck within his own.
Maria weeps—the Muses mourn
On Thracian Hebrus' side
The cruel death he died.
The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower,
Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd; And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !
I snapp'd it-it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile ; And the tear that is wiped with a little address,
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
REASONING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
Are rarely known to stray.
And heard the voice of love;
No time shall disengage,
Shall cheer our latest age:
While innocence without disguise,
And constancy sincere,
Shall ne'er be felt by me,
As being shar'd with thee.
When lightnings flash among the trees,
Or kites are hovering near,
And know no other fear.
VII. 'Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side, Resolv'd a union form'd for life
Death never shall divide.
(Forgive a transient thought) Thou could become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot,
No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak;
This widow'd heart would break.
Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird,
Soft as the passing wind; And I recorded what I heard,
A lesson for mankind.
A Raven, while with glossy breast