A clew that soon shall set you free!
Not Ariadne, if you meet her,

Herself could serve you with a better.
You enter'd easily find where-
And make with ease, your exit there!

XX. NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE

SUFFERER.

THE lover, in melodious verses
His singular distress rehearses.
Still closing with a rueful cry,
"Was ever such a wretch as I!"
Yes! thousands have endured before
All thy distress; some, haply, more.
Unnumbered Corydons complain,
And Strephons, of the like disdain;
And if thy Chloe be of steel,
Too deaf to hear, too hard to feel;
Not her alone that censure fits,
Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits.

XXI. THE SNAIL.

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all

Together.
Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides

Of weather.

Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house with much
Displeasure.

Wherever he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own

Whole treasure.

Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds

The faster.

Who seeks him must be worse than blind, (He and his house are so combined)

If finding it, he fails to find

Its master.

THE CONTRITE HEART.

THE Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, Gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?

I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;

If aught is felt, 'tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.

I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that's good.

My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry, "My strength, renew,"
Seem weaker than before.

I see thy saints with comfort filled,

When in thy house of prayer;

Thy words, Immanuel, all forbid
That I should seek my pleasure there.

It was the sight of thy dear cross

First weaned my soul from earthly things, And taught me to esteem as dross

The mirth of fools and pomp of kings.

I want that grace that springs from thee,
That quickens all things where it flows,
And makes a wretched thorn like me,
Bloom as the myrtle or the rose.
Dear fountain of delight unknown,
No longer sink below the brim :
But overflow and pour me down
A living and life-giving stream.
For sure, of all the plants that share
The notice of thy Father's eye,
None proves less grateful to his care,
Or yields him meaner fruit than I.

A TALE.*

IN Scotland's realm where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;

But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found.

For husband there and wife may boast
Their union undefiled,

This tale is founded on an article of intelligence which the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words :

Glasgow, May 23.

In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert now ly ing at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it but when she descends to the hull for food.

And false ones are as rare almost
As hedge-rows in the wild.

In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare,
The history chanced of late-
The history of a wedded pair,
A chaffinch and his mate.

The spring drew near, each felt a breast
With genial instinct filled;

They paired, and would have built a nest,
But found not where to build.

The heath uncovered, and the moors,
Except with snow and sleet,
Sea-beaten rocks, and naked shores
Could yield them no retreat.

Long time a breeding place they sought,
Till both grew vexed 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 passed.

Within that cavity aloft,

Their roofless home they fixed.