JUVENILE POEMS.

The following fourteen pieces were first published in the Aldine Edition of Thomson. They were obtained by Sir H. Nicolas from a manuscript in the poet's own writing, containing as many of his early poems as he could recollect, which he presented to Lord George Graham.

I.

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO SIR WILLIAM
BENNET, BART. OF GRUBBAT.*

My trembling muse your honour does address;
That it's a bold attempt most humbly I confess :
If you'll encourage her young fagging flight,
She'll upward soar and mount Parnassus' height.
If little things with great may be compared,
In Rome it so with the divine Virgil fared;
The tuneful bard Augustus did inspire,
Made his great genius flash poetic fire:

But if upon my flight your honour frowns,

The muse folds up her wings, and dying -- justice

owns.

* This was written at a very early period of Thomson's life, probably in his fourteenth year; and the reason for inserting it is, that the first productions of genius are objects of rational curiosity.

II.

LISY'S PARTING WITH HER CAT.

THE dreadful hour with leaden pace approach'd,
Lash'd fiercely on by unrelenting fate,

When Lisy and her bosom Cat must part:
For now, to school and pensive needle doom'd,
She's banish'd from her childhood's undash'd joy,
And all the pleasing intercourse she kept
With her gray comrade, which has often soothed
Her tender moments, while the world around
Glow'd with ambition, business, and vice,
Or lay dissolved in sleep's delicious arms;
And from their dewy orbs the conscious stars
Shed on their friendship influence benign.

But see where mournful Puss, advancing, stood With outstretch'd tail, cast looks of anxious woe On melting Lisy, in whose eye the tear

Stood tremulous, and thus would fain have said,
If nature had not tied her struggling tongue:
'Unkind, O! who shall now with fattening milk,
With flesh, with bread, and fish beloved, and meat,
Regale my taste? and at the cheerful fire,
Ah, who shall bask me in their downy lap?
Who shall invite me to the bed, and throw
The bedclothes o'er me in the winter night,
When Eurus roars? Beneath whose soothing hand
Soft shall I purr? But now,
when Lisy 's gone,

*Thomson's second and favourite sister. See Memoir,

p. cxli.

What is the dull officious world to me ?

I loathe the thoughts of life. Thus plain'd the Cat, While Lisy felt, by sympathetic touch,

These anxious thoughts that in her mind revolved,
And casting on her a desponding look,

She snatch'd her in her arms with eager grief,
And mewing, thus began:-'O Cat beloved!
Thou dear companion of my tender years!
Joy of my youth! that oft hast lick'd my hands
With velvet tongue, ne'er stain'd by mouse's blood.
Oh, gentle Cat! how shall I part with thee?
How dead and heavy will the moments pass
When you are not in my delighted eye,
With Cubi playing, or your flying tail.
How harshly will the softest muslin feel,
And all the silk of schools, while I no more
Have your sleek skin to soothe my soften'd sense?
How shall I eat, while you are not beside,
To share the bit? How shall I ever sleep,
While I no more your lulling murmurs hear?
Yet we must part—so rigid fate decrees.
But never shall your loved idea, dear,
Part from my soul, and when I first can mark
The embroider'd figure on the snowy lawn
Your image shall my needle keen employ.
Hark! now I'm call'd away! O direful sound!
I come I come, but first I charge you all
You · you - and you, particularly you,
O, Mary, Mary,* feed her with the best,
Repose her nightly in the warmest couch,

The Poet's youngest sister. See Memoir, p. cxlii.

And be a Lisy to her!'

Having said,
She sat her down, and with her head across,
Rush'd to the evil which she could not shun,
While a sad mew went knelling to her heart!

III.

ON MAY.

AMONG the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colours drest:
Soft as the breeze that fans the smiling field;
Sweet as the breath that opening roses yield;
Fair as the colour lavish Nature paints
On virgin flowers free from unodorous taints.
To rural scenes thou tempt'st the busy crowd,
Who, in each grove, thy praises sing aloud :
The blooming belles and shallow beaux, strange
sight!

Turn nymphs and swains, and in their sports delight.

IV.

THE MORNING IN THE COUNTRY.

WHEN from the opening chambers of the east The morning springs, in thousand liveries drest,

The early larks their morning tribute pay,
And, in shrill notes, salute the blooming day.
Refreshed fields with pearly dew do shine,
And tender blades therewith their tops incline.
Their painted leaves the unblown flowers expand,
And with their odorous breath perfume the land.
The crowing cock and chattering hen awakes
Dull sleepy clowns, who know the morning breaks.
The herd his plaid around his shoulders throws,
Grasps his dear crook, calls on his dog, and goes
Around the fold: he walks with careful pace,
And fallen clods sets in their wonted place;
Then opes the door, unfolds his fleecy care,
And gladly sees them crop their morning fare.
Down upon easy moss he lays,

And sings some charming shepherdess's praise.