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Once framed a rich Elixir of Delight,
TO THE NIGHTINGALE. SISTER of love-lorn poets, Philomel !
How many bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell’d mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of watchmen, Those hoarse, unfeathered nightingales of time ! How many wretched bards address thy name, And her's, the full-orb’d queen, that shines above,
A CHRISTMAS TALE, TOLD BY A SCHOOL-BOY TO HIS
LITTLE BROTHERS AND SISTERS. UNDERNEATH an old oak tree
There was of swine a huge company, That grunted as they crunched the mast: For that was ripe, and fell full fast. Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high : One acorn they left, and no more might you spy. Next came a Raven, that liked not such folly : He belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy ! Blacker was he than blackest jet, Flew low in the rain, and his feathers not wet. He picked up the acorn and buried it straight By the side of a river both deep and great.
Where then did the Raven go ?
He went high and low,
Many Autumns, many Springs
At length he came back, and with him a She.
stand. It bulged on a rock, and the waves rushed in fast: Round and round flew the Raven, and caw'd to the blast. He heard the last shriek of the perishing soulsSee! See! o'er the topmast the mad water rolls !
Right glad was the Raven, and off he went fleet, And Death riding home on a cloud he did meet, And he thank'd him again and again for this treat:
They had taken his all, and Revenge it was sweet!
A FAREWELL ODE, ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR
JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
Cam rolls his reverend stream along,
Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul
Ah Flowers ! which Joy from Eden stole
FARE "AREWELL parental scenes ! a sad farewell!
To you my grateful heart still fondly clings, Tho' fluttering round on Fancy's burnished wings Her tales of future Joy Hope loves to tell. Adieu, adieu! ye much loved cloisters pale! Ah! would those happy days return again, When 'neath your arches, free from every stain, I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale ! Dear haunts! where oft my simple lays I sang, Listening meanwhile the echoings of my feet, Lingering I quit you, with as great a pang, As when ere while, my weeping childhood, torn Bv v early sorrow from my native seat, Mingled its tears with hers—my widowed Parent
TO THE MUSE.
THOUGH no bold flights to thee belong;
And though thy lays, with conscious fear,
WITH FIELDING'S AMELIA.
VIRTUES and Woes alike too great for man
In the soft tale oft claim the useless sigh ;
On folly's wings must imitation fly.
Each social duty, and each social care ;
What every wife should be, what many are. And sure the Parent of a race so sweet With double-pleasure on the page shall dwell, Each scene with sympathizing breast shall meet, While Reason still with smiles delights to tell Maternal hope, that her loved Progeny In all but Sorrows shall Amelias be!