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At what a sailor suffers; fancy too,
Delusive most where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,

And dream of transports she was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death—
And never smiled again! and now she roams
The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day,
And there, unless when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tattered apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown
More tattered still; and both but ill conceal
A bosom heaved with never ceasing sighs.
She begs an idle pin of all she meets,

And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food,
Though pressed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes
Though pinched with cold, asks never-Kate is crazed.

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In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare,

This 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 heaths 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,
Formed with materials neat and soft,
Bents, wool, and feathers mixed.

Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor,
With russet specks bedight-
The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore,
And lessens to the sight.

The mother-bird is gone to sea,
As she had changed her kind;
the male! Far wiser, he

But

goes

Is doubtless left behind?

No—Soon as from ashore he saw

The winged mansion move,
He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never-failing love.

Then perching at his consort's side,
Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blast defied,
And cheered her with a song.

The seaman with sincere delight,
His feathered 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 hope be true!

Hail, honoured 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 wo.

Be it your fortune year by year,

The same resource to prove,

And may ye, sometimes landing here,
Instruct us how to love.

"The tale is faunded 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 gabet, now lying at the Bromeslaw, 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."

On a Spaniel called Beau, killing a young Bird.

A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you,

Well fed, and at his ease,
Should wiser be than to pursue
Each trifle that he sees.

But you have killed a tiny bird,
Which flew not till to day,
Against my orders, whom you heard
Forbidding you the prey.

Nor did you kill that you might eat,.
And ease a doggish pain,

For him, though chased with furious heat,
You left where he was slain.

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A mightier cried—proceed—

'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest Impelled me to the deed.

Yet much as nature I respect,

I ventured once to break,
(As you, perhaps, may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;

And when your linnet on a day,
Passing his prison door,

Had fluttered all his strength away,
And panting pressed the floor,
Well knowing him a sacred thing,
Not destined to my tooth,

I only kissed his ruffled wing,
And licked the feathers smooth.

Let my 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 ?"

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Beau was Mr. Cowper's favourite Dog, and often accompanied him in his walks. Those who possess Cowper's entire works, will find Beau celebrated in the verses, The Dog and the Water Lily.

The verses to Mrs. Anne Bodham, on receiving from her a net-work purse made by herself, are lively and epigrammatic, expressive of the cordiality and sportiveness with which Cowper treated the friends whom he loved.

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more
Than plaything for a nurse,

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I danced and fondled on my knee
A kitten both in size and glee,
I thank thee for my purse-
Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love ;—That gem's too dear
For richest rouges to win it;

I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above

The best things kept within it.

THE CASTAWAY.

The date of this piece is March 20, 1799. It is the last original effort of Cowper, and as such, a melancholy interest is attached to it. The Castaway is founded upon an incident recorded in Lord Anson's voyage. A sailor fell overboard, but the force of the wind and the roughness of the sea frustrated every effort which could be made to save his life, and he was drowned. Obscurest night involved the sky,

The Atlantic billows roared,
When such a destined wretch as I,
Washed headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.
No braver chief could Albion boast,
Than he, with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,
With warmer wishes sent.

He loved them both, but both in vain,
Nor him behold, nor her again.

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