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 UP 
 
 
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THE 
 
 PEACOCK AT HOME; 
 
 AND 
 
 £>$er #oem& 
 
 Mrs. DORSET, f-fr. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR JOHN MURRAY, 3% FLEET-STREET } 
 
 J. HARRIS, ST. PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD J AND 
 
 MANNERS AND MILLER, 
 
 EDINBURGH; 
 
 By Harding and Wright, St. John's-Square. 
 
 1809L 
 
"RW% 
 
 \y 
 
 y& 
 
 
 SIFT 
 £30L. JAMES B. CHILr 
 JULY 26, 1 94<> 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Jlhe favour with which the little poem, 
 intitled " The Peacock at Home," has 
 been received in its juvenile form, has induced 
 me to re-publish it, in one more worthy of 
 those who have expressed a desire to see it 
 transplanted from the nursery, to a more 
 honourable station. It is also in compliance 
 with the opinion of others, that I have added 
 notes to the present edition, which, although 
 it had been before recommended, I had con- 
 
11 
 
 sidered as unnecessary ; for as the Poem was 
 written expressly for the amusement of very 
 young readers, it was rather my wish to ex- 
 cite than to satisfy curiosity, by inducing 
 them to apply to other books for that informa- 
 tion, which a short note can very imperfectly 
 supply. For those which are now subjoined, 
 I am indebted chiefly to Wood's Zoography, 
 Bewick's British Birds, and Bingley's Animal 
 Biography. 
 
 It is necessary to observe, that many of the 
 small poems have appeared before, in one of 
 the last, but not least admirable, of the works 
 of the late Mrs. Smith, the " Conversations for 
 the Use of young Persons," and which her 
 partiality considered as not unworthy of a 
 place among the superior productions of her 
 
Ill 
 
 own pen : but, conscious of the disadvantage 
 with which they must appear under such a 
 companion, I have been permitted by the 
 liberality of Mr. Johnson, the publisher, to 
 reclaim, and add them to the present volume ; 
 and being principally on subjects of Natural 
 History, they may be considered as no impro- 
 per accompaniment to the cc Peacock at 
 Home." 
 
 August, 1809. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Peacock at Home 3 
 
 Notes 23 
 
 The Mimosa • • • • 45 
 
 The Cankered Rose 47 
 
 The Glow- Worm - • 52 
 
 The Captive Fly 54 
 
 To the Lady-Bird • 58 
 
 The Humming-Bird 60 
 
 The Hot-house Rose • • * * 64 
 
 The Humble-Bee 67 
 
 The Dormouse just taken ♦....•• 71 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Squirrel • * 74 
 
 The Nautilus. • • • * 78 
 
 The Robin's Petition 81 
 
 The Spider 86 
 
 An Oriental Apologue 91 
 
 Written in Southampton, in 1806 • • 93 
 
 To a Friend, who asserted that Life had no 
 
 Pleasure after early Youth • 97 
 
 On Wit 99 
 
 An Enigma 102 
 
 Address to the Moon 106 
 
 The Recluse and the Bear • • • • 112 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Line 100, p. 11, for fins read fens. 
 168, p. 17, for birds read bird* 
 
THE 
 
 PEACOCK AT HOME. 
 
THE 
 
 PEACOCK AT HOME, 
 
 When the Butterfly burst from her chrysalis 
 
 state, 
 And gave to the Insects a Ball and a Fete ; 
 When the Grasshopper's minstrelsy charm'd every 
 
 ear, 
 
 And delighted the guests with his mirth and good 
 
 cheer ; 
 
 B 2 
 
The fame spread abroad of their revels and feasts, 
 And excited the spleen of the birds and the beasts ; 
 For the gilded-wing'd Dragon-Fly made it his 
 
 theme, 
 And the Gnat blew his horn as he danc'd in the 
 
 beam; 
 The Gossip whose chirping beguil'd the long night. 
 By the cottage fireside told the tale of delight ; 10 
 While, suspending his labours, the Bee left his cell, 
 To murmur applause in each blossom and bell ; 
 It was humm'd by the Beetle, and buzz'd by the 
 
 Fly, 
 And sung by the myriads that sport thro' the sky. 
 The quadrupeds listen' d in sullen displeasure ; 
 But the tenants of air were enrag'd beyond mea- 
 sure. 
 
The Peacock resplendent, unfurl'd his broad fan, 
 And addressing his mates, thus indignant began : 
 u Ye people of plume ! whether dwellers in woods, 
 Whether wading thro' marshes, or diving in floods, 
 Will you suffer the Insects, the birth of a day, 21 
 To be talk'd of as all that is tasteful and gay ? 
 And shall we like domestic, inelegant fowls, 
 Unpolish'd as Geese, and more stupid than Owls, 
 Sit tamely at home tete-a-tete with our spouses. 
 While the oifspring of grub-worms throw open 
 
 their houses ? 
 Forbid it, ye powers, o'er our Class who preside^ 
 And help me to humble the Butterfly's pride ! 
 It provokes me to see such pretenders to fashion, 
 Cousin Turkey-Cock, well may you quiver with 
 
 passion ! 30 
 
When such pitiful beings affect to compare 
 With us ! the legitimate children of air ! 
 Some bird of high rank should his talents exert 
 In the general cause, and our honour assert. 
 But the Eagle, while soaring thro' Ether on high. 
 Overlooks what is passing in our nether sky ; 
 The Swan calmly sails down the current of life. 
 Without ruffling a plume in the national strife ; 
 And the Ostrich — for birds who on iron are wont 
 Their breakfast to make, can digest an affront, 40 
 But, if ever I suffer such airs to prevail, 
 May Juno pluck out all the eyes in my tail ! 
 To revenge our disgrace, I'll for once lead the way, 
 And send out my cards for St. Valentine's Day, 
 Round my standard to rally each order and genus. 
 From the Eagle of JovEtotheSpARRowof Venus." 
 
This determined, six fleet Carrier-Pigeons 
 went out, 
 To invite all the Birds to Sir Argus's rout. 
 
 The nest-loving Turtle-Dove, simple recluse, 
 Pleaded family-duties, and sent an excuse ; 50 
 
 With matron importance Dame Partlet alledg'd, 
 That her numerous progeny scarcely were fledg'd ; 
 The Turkey, poor soul ! was confin'd to the rip, 
 For all her young brood had just fail'd with the 
 
 pip. 
 The Partridge was ask'd ; but a neighbour hard 
 
 by, 
 
 Had en gag' d a snug party to meet in a pye ; 
 
 And the Wheatear declin'd — recollecting, her 
 
 cousins 
 Last year to a feast were invited by dozens ; 
 
8 
 
 But, alas ! they return'd not : — and she had no 
 
 taste 
 To appear in a costume of vine-leaves or paste. 60 
 The Woodcock preferr'd his lone hannt on the 
 
 moor ; 
 And the traveller Swallow was still on his tour ; 
 While the Cuckoo, who should have been one of 
 
 the guests, 
 Was rambling on visits to other birds' nests : 
 But the rest all accepted the kind invitation, 
 Andnmch bustle prevail'din the Plumed Creation. 
 Such ruffling of feathers, such pruning of coats, 
 Such chirping, such whistling, such clearing of 
 
 throats, 
 Such polishing bills, and such oiling of pinions^ 
 Had never been known in the biped dominions ! 70 
 
9 
 
 The Taylor-Bird ofFer'd to make up newcloaths, 
 For all the young birdlings who wish'd to be beaux ; 
 He made for the Robin a doublet of red. 
 And a new velvet cap for the Goldfinch's head. 
 He added a plume to the Wren's golden crest, 
 And spangled with silver the Guinea-fowl's 
 
 breast. 
 While the Halcyon bent over the streamlet to view. 
 How pretty she look'd, in her boddice of blue. 
 Thus equipp'd, they set off for the Peacock's 
 
 abode, 
 With the guide Indicator, who shew'd them the 
 
 road. 80 
 
 From all points of the compass flock'd birds of all 
 
 feather, 
 And the Pa rrot can tell who and who were together 
 
10 
 
 There was Lord Casso wary, and General Fla- 
 mingo, 
 And Don Peroquito, escap'd from Domingo, 
 From his high rock-built eyrie the Eagle came 
 
 forth. 
 And the Dutchess of Ptarmigan flew from the 
 
 North : 
 The Grebe and the Eider-Duck came up by water, 
 With the Swan, who brought out the young Cyg- 
 net, her daughter : 
 From his woodland abode came the Pheasant, 
 
 to meet 
 Two kindred arriv'd by the last India fleet ; 90 
 The one like a Nabob, in habit most splendid, 
 Where gold, with each hue of the rainbow, was 
 blended ; 
 
II 
 
 In silver and black, like a fair pensive maid 
 Who mourns for her love, was the other array'd. 
 The Chough came from Cornwall, and brought up 
 
 his wife ; 
 The Grouse travell'd South from his lairdship in 
 
 Fife; 
 The Bunting forsook her soft nest in the reeds, 
 And the Widow-bird came, tho' she still wore 
 
 her weeds. 98 
 
 A veteran Deco Y-DucR,whose falsehoods and wiles 
 Had ensnar'd all the youth of the fins in her toils, 
 Swam in, full of hope some new conquest to make, 
 Tho' captives unnumber'dsail'd close in her wake. 
 Next enter'd a party of Puffins and Smews, 
 And the Dodo — who chapron'd the two Miss 
 
 Cushews ; 
 
12 
 
 Sir John Heron, of the Lakes, strutted in a 
 
 grand pas : 
 But no card had been sent to the pilfering Daw, — 
 As the Peacock kept up his progenitor's quarrel, 
 Which j£sop relates, about cast-off apparel : 
 For birds are like men in their contests together, 
 And in questions of right can dispute for a feather. 
 
 The Peacock Imperial, the pride of his race, 
 Receiv'd all his guests with an infinite grace; 112 
 Wav'd high his blue neck, and his train he display' d, 
 Embroider'd with gold, and with sapphires inlaid ; 
 Then led to a bow'r, where the musical throng, 
 Amateurs and professors, were all in full song : 
 A holly-bush form'd the orchestra, and in it 
 Sat the Blackbird, the Thrush, the Lark, and 
 
 the Linnet. 
 
13 
 
 The Bullfinch, a captive almost from the nest. 
 Just escap'd from his cage, and, with liberty blest, 
 In a sweet mellow tone join'd the lessons of art, 
 With the accents of nature which fiow'd from his 
 
 heart 122 
 
 The Canary, a much-admir'd foreign musician, 
 Condescended to sing to the fowls of condition : 
 While the Nightingale warbled and quaver'd 
 
 so fine, 
 That they all clapp'd their wings and pronounq'd 
 
 it divine. 
 The Sky-Lark, in extacy, sang from a cloud ; 
 And Chanticleer crow'd, and the Yaffil 
 
 laugh'd loud. 
 The dancing began when the music was over j 
 A Dotterel first open' d the Ball with the Plover. 
 
u 
 
 Barori Stork, in a waltz, was allow'd to excel!, 
 With his beautiful partner the fair Demoiselle. 
 And a newly iledg'd Gosling, so slim and genteel, 
 A minuet swam with the spruce Mr. Teal. 
 A London-bred Sparrow, a pert forward cit, 
 Danc'd a reel with Miss Wagtail and little 
 
 Tomtit. 
 The Sieur Guillemot next perform'd a pas seul r 
 While the elderly Bipeds were playing a pool. 
 The Dowager Lady Toucan first cut in, 139 
 
 With old Dr. Buzzard and Adm'ral Penguin. 
 From ivy-bush tow'r came dame Owlet the wise ? 
 And Counsellor Crossbill sat by to advise. 
 But the Rook, who protested 'twas all mighty dull, 
 Chicken Hazard propos'd to the Pigeon and 
 
 Gull: 
 
15 
 
 And next day it was whisper' d, he kept them so 
 
 late, 
 That the Pigeon had mortgag'd the pease-cod 
 
 estate ; 
 And the Gull^ who, it seems, nothing more had 
 
 to lose. 
 Had made his escape, and sail'd out on a cruize. 
 Some birds, past their prime, o'er whose heads it 
 
 was fated 149 
 
 Should pass many St. Valentines, yet be unmated*, 
 Sat by and remark' d, that the prudent and sage 
 Were quite overlook' d in this frivolous age, 
 When birds scarce pen-feather' d were brought to 
 
 a rout, 
 Forward chits from the egg-shell but newly come 
 
 out: 
 
16 
 
 In their youthful days they ne'er witness'd such 
 
 frisking ; 
 And how wrong in the Greenfinch to flirt with 
 
 the Siskin. 
 So thought Lady Mackaw, and her friend 
 
 Cockatoo, 
 And the Raven foretold that no good would ensue^ 
 They censur'd the Bantam for strutting and 
 
 crowing 
 In those vile pantaloons, which he fancied look'd 
 knowing : 160 
 
 And a want of decorum caus'd many demurs 
 Against the Ga me-Chicken, for coming in spurs. 
 To the Peacock's acquaintance 'twas wrong to 
 
 object, 
 Yet they hop'd his next party would be more select ; 
 
17 
 
 For admitting the Bat, in his pinions of leather, 
 Was a shocking intrusion on people of feather: 
 Doubtful characters might be excluded at least, 
 And creatures that class not with birds nor with 
 
 beast. 
 The Magpie, renown'd for discretion and candour, 
 Who always pro fess'd an abhorrence to slander, 170 
 Was much griev'd that the Pelican — meaning 
 
 no ill, 
 So unkindly was peck'd by each ill-natured bill, 
 For attempting some delicate bits to secrete 
 For her young ones at home, just by way of a 
 
 treat ; 
 And before they were safe in her ridicule pack'd, 
 She was caught by the sharp-sighted Hawk in the 
 
 fact. 
 
18 
 
 Old Alderman Corm'rant, for supper impatient. 
 At the eating-room door for an hour had been 
 
 station'd. 
 Till a Jay, in rich liv'ry, the banquet announcing, 
 Gave the signal long- wish' d-for of clamouring and 
 pouncing. 180 
 
 At the well-furnish' d board all were eager to perch, 
 But the little Miss Creepers were left in the lurch. 
 
 Description must fail, and the pen is unable 
 To recount all thelux'ries which cover'd the table. 
 Each delicate viand that taste could denote, 
 Wasps a la sauce piquante, and flies en com- 
 pote; 
 Worms and frogs en friture for the web-footed 
 
 fowl, 
 And a barbecued mouse was prepar'dfor the Owl ; 
 
19 
 
 Nuts, grain, fruit, and fish, to regale every pa- 
 late, 
 And groundsel and chickweed serv'd up in a 
 sallad. 190 
 
 The Razorbill carv'd for the famishing group, 
 And the Spoonbill obligingly ladled the soup : 
 While such justice was done to the dainties before 
 
 'em, 
 That the tables were clear' d with the utmost de- 
 corum. 
 When they gaily had carroll'd till peep of the 
 dawn, 
 The Lark gently hinted, 'twas time to be gone ; 
 And his clarion so shrill gave the company warning 
 That Chanticleer scented the gales of the morn- 
 ing : 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 So they chirp'd in full concert a friendly adieu, . 
 
 And, with hearts beating light as the plumage that 
 grew 200 
 
 On their merrythought bosoms, away they all flew. 
 Then long live the Peacock, in splendour un- 
 matched, 
 
 WhoseBall shall be talk'd of by birds jet unhatch'd; 
 
 His fame let the Trumpeter loudly proclaim, 
 
 And the Goose lend her quill to transmit it to fame ! 
 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES. 
 
 1. I. 9. The House-Cricket. ~] A well-known 
 insect, inhabiting the chimneys of farm-houses and 
 cottages. 
 
 %.l. 39. The Ostrich ($truthio^y\ whose power 
 of digestion is so strong, that it is said to devour 
 iron, stones, and other hard substances. 
 
 3. 1 53 A machine used in poultry-yards, under 
 which it is usual to confine the mother bird with 
 the young brood, till it has acquired strength to 
 follow her. The word is derived from the Saxon, 
 Hrip, meaning a covering, or protection, for the 
 young. 
 
24 
 
 4. I. 71. T%e Taylor-Bird (Motacilla Suto- 
 ria).~] So called from the singular manner in which 
 it constructs its nest, which is composed of two 
 leaves, sewed together with wonderful skill, by 
 the little taylor, whose bill serves him for a needle, 
 and the fine fibres of leaves furnishes him with a 
 substitute for thread, and by which means he at- 
 taches a dead leaf to a living one, growing at the 
 end of a branch. The nest is formed like a pouch, 
 open at the top ; a lining of some soft kind of 
 vegetable down, and a few feathers, complete the 
 simple habitation, which, with the whole family, 
 is so light, that the slenderest twig is sufficient to 
 support its weight. The Taylor-Bird is an inha- 
 bitant of India ; but not being distinguished by 
 any thing except the singular manner in which it 
 constructs its nest, has not been frequently noticed. 
 Mr. Pennant gives the figure, and a slight de- 
 scription, in his Indian Zoology. 
 
25 
 
 5. /. 75. The Golden-crested Wren (Motacilla 
 Regulus).'] Is the smallest of the British birds ; 
 it takes its name from a circle of gold-coloured 
 feathers, bordered with black, forming an arch 
 above its eyes, which it has the power of raising or 
 depressing ; it is a native of every part of Europe^ 
 and is also to be found in Asia and America. 
 
 6. I. 77. Halcyon, or Kingfisher, (Alcedo-ir- 
 pedo).~] Esteemed the most beautiful of our 
 native birds ; and its claim to that distinction is 
 indisputable, as far as depends on the brilliancy 
 of its plumage, which displays a variety of the most 
 vivid colours, amongst which blue predominates ; 
 but its form is clumsy, and its bill very dispro- 
 portionate to its size. It inhabits the banks of 
 rivers and streams, where it will sit for hours, on 
 a projecting branch, watching for its prey. The 
 ancients relate many fabulous stories of this bird 5 
 as that of its laying its eggs in the depth of winter- 
 
26 
 
 and that during the time of its incubation the 
 weather remains perfectly calm, whence the ex- 
 pression Halcyon Days. The fable of Ceyx and 
 Alcione is well known ; and it seems that, from 
 the earliest times to the present, these birds have 
 been regarded as particular objects of superstitious 
 veneration. It is said that the Tartars and Ostiacs 
 are in the habit of carrying the feathers, beak, and 
 claws of the Kingfisher about their persons, which 
 they imagine to be a preservative against all evil ; 
 and Foster, in his Second Voyage to the South Sea 
 Islands, relates, that, having shot one of them, he 
 was met by the chief and his family, who were 
 walking on the beach with Captain Cook. The 
 chief did not observe, says he, the bird I had in 
 my hand ; but his daughter wept for the death of 
 her Ealau, or genius, and fledfromme ; her mother^ 
 and the women who were with her ? seemed also 
 much concerned at the accident. The chief^ 
 
27 
 
 mounting on his canoe, requested us, in a seriou* 
 tone, to spare the Kingfishers and Herons of his 
 sland : we could not discover the meaning of this 
 superstition. 
 
 7. Z* SO. Cuculus Indicator .] A bird of the 
 Cuckow kind, inhabiting the interior parts of 
 Africa, whose singular manners might be deemed 
 fabulous, were they not well authenticated by tra- 
 velers of unquestionable veracity. This little crea- 
 ture is so expert in discovering to the natives the 
 nests of the wild bees, that it has obtained the specific 
 name of Indicator ; and is also called by the Eu- 
 ropean inhabitants of Africa the Honey-bird. We 
 are told, that the Indicator no sooner discovers a 
 nest of wild honey, than it flies to the first human 
 being it can find, and by its fluttering, and a par- 
 ticular note resembling the word cher cher, which 
 it continues to repeat, invites the person to follow, 
 when it leads the way before him, flying from bush » 
 
28 
 
 to bush, or from one elevated spot to another. 
 If the person does not follow fast enough to 
 please him, he returns, increases his chirping noise, 
 and endeavours by every means in his power to 
 attract his attention : when arrived at the spot, he 
 takes his station on a neighbouring bough, pre- 
 serving a profound silence while his companion 
 is plundering the nest; after which he receives 
 the reward of his sagacity, and feasts on a portion 
 of the honey, which is always reserved for him. 
 Dr. Sparman relates, that he has frequently assisted 
 at the taking of the bees' nests in this manner. 
 
 8. I. 83. Cassowary,'] A large singular bird, 
 found in I the island of Java, in Africa, and 
 the southern parts of India. The head of this bird 
 is armed with a kind of natural helmet, extending 
 from the base of the bill to near half way over the 
 head. Was it as formidable in disposition as in 
 appearance, it might prove a very destructive crea- 
 
29 
 
 ture ; but it never attacks other animals, ,and when 
 attacked, instead of availing itself of the powers 
 which nature has given it, it only beats down and 
 tramples on his adversary. 
 
 9. /. 84. Flamingo Phoenicopterus.'] A bird of 
 the crane kind, but web-footed, whose plumage is of 
 a bright scarlet; when standing erect, it measures 
 above six feet, though its body is not* larger than 
 that of a goose. The great length of its legs and 
 neck gives it a singularly disproportionate appear- 
 ance. These birds live in a state of society, and 
 are very shy of mankind ; they have been observed 
 to approach rivers, from whence they procure 
 their food, drawn up in regular ranks, appear- 
 ing at a distance like a body of soldiers. One 
 of the company performs the duty of a centinel, 
 and gives the alarm to the troop, on the first ap- 
 pearance of danger, by uttering a harh cry resem*. 
 bling the sound of a trumpet ; on hearing which. 
 
30 
 
 they all fly off, filling the air with their screams. 
 These birds are natives of Africa, Persia, and 
 South America, where they are become scarce. 
 The negroes have a very particular respect and 
 attachment to the Flamingo, and never suffer it to 
 be molested; so that they are found in considerable 
 numbers in Africa, and perch on trees near villages. 
 10. I. 86. Ptarmigan. (Tetrao).~] The white 
 grous, or white game, inhabits the Highlands of Scot- 
 land and the Western Islands : it prefers the coldest 
 situations on the highest mountains, where it bur- 
 rows under the snow. It changes its feathers twice 
 in the year, and about the end of February puts 
 on its summer dress of dusky brown, ash, and 
 orange-coloured feathers ; which it loses in winter 
 for a plumage perfectly white, except a black line 
 between the bill and the eye. The legs and toes 
 are warmly clothed with a thick long coat of soft 
 white feathers, 
 
31 
 
 11./. 89. Pheasant. (PhasianusColchicus).'] 
 A bird too well known to require a description . The 
 golden or painted pheasant alluded to in line ^0, is 
 remarkable for the splendor of its plumage. The 
 black and white or pencilled pheasant, of China, 
 is a more modest beauty ; but as both are common 
 in menageries, a particular description is thought 
 unnecessary. 
 
 12. L 95. The Chough. (Corvus Graculus).'] 
 This bird, which is about the size of the daw, has a 
 long curved bill, sharp at the point, which, as well 
 as the legs and feet, is of a bright scar'et, contrast- 
 ing beautifully with its black plumage, which varies 
 as the light falls on it, to a deep purple or violet ; 
 the iris of the eye is composed of two circles, the 
 inner one light blue, the outer one red, as are the 
 eyelids : the elegance of its figure, and its being a 
 lively active bird, and susceptible of bein domes- 
 ticated, renders it interesting. It builds in the 
 
32 
 
 erevices of high cliffs near the sea, and is most 
 frequent on the Devonshire and Cornish coast, 
 and is usually called the Cornish chough, though 
 there are a few of them old inhabitants of the cliffs 
 near Dover, as has been remarked by Shakespear : 
 
 u The crows and choughs seem scarce as gross as beetles." 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 13. /. $6. The Grouse , or Moor Cock. (Tetrao 
 Scotica).~\ A well-known bird abounding in the 
 heathy mountainous tracts in the North. It is, 
 however, a poetical licence to make it the pro. 
 prietor of a Fife lairdship ; that county, among its 
 many excellencies, does not number the grouse, 
 which is only to be seen there on the hospitable 
 tables of its inhabitants. 
 
 14. /. 97. Bunting^ or Reed Sparrow. (Embe- 
 rizo)."] A gregarious bird, of which there are se- 
 Teral species inhabiting Great Britain ; the one 
 
33 
 
 above alluded to is the Reed Bunting, and builds, 
 as its name implies, among reeds, on four of which 
 it suspends its nest, somewhat in the form of a 
 hammock, a few feet above the water. 
 
 15. L 98. The Widow, or Whidah-Bird.'] Is 
 also a species of Bunting, a native of Angola 
 and other parts of Africa. And is remarkable for 
 the feathers of its tail. The two middle ones are 
 about four inches long, and ending in along thread, 
 the two next are thirteen inches in length, broad 
 and narrowing towards the points, from these 
 proceed another long thread. Travellers assert 
 that birds of this species construct a nest of two 
 stories ; the upper is occupied by Monsieur, and 
 the lower by Madame. 
 
 16. L 103. The Puffin (Jlea Artica.y\ A 
 sea bird, inhabiting the rocky cliffs, on the coast 
 of Great Britain, Ireland, and the surrounding 
 Islands in incredible numbers ; they first assemble 
 
34. 
 
 in April, and remain till they have hatched and 
 reared their young ; which business is accomplished 
 about the middle of August, when the whole asi 
 sociated party migrate at once, pursuing their route 
 to other countries, better adapted to their future 
 exigencies. It probably derives its name from the 
 feathers of the cheeks being very much puffed out, 
 so as to make the head appear large and round ; 
 the bill is singular, and looks as if a sheath was 
 slipped over both mandibles. 
 
 17. /. 103. Smew (Mergus Albellus).~] Also 
 called the White Nun. Is a sea bird, also fre- 
 quenting the coasts in the North ; this species is 
 distinguished from the rest of the Mergi, by its 
 black and white piebald appearance, 
 
 18. L 104. The Dodo (Didus).~] The exis- 
 tence of this very uncouth bird has been disputed, 
 but it is now ascertained that it is not an imaginary 
 creature : it is represented as of a heavy form, its 
 
m 
 
 legs short and clumsy; the head is covered with 
 a sort of veil, and its two large black eyes, each 
 surrounded by a circle of white ; the gape of its 
 strangely formed hooked bill, reaching beyond the 
 ■eyes ; the wings are short, and useless for flying ; 
 the feathers of the tail are curled like those of 
 the Ostrich, and stand up from the bottom of the 
 back. They are said to be found in the Islands of 
 the Indian Ocean. 
 
 19. L 104. Cushew (Crax.)'] A species of 
 Curassow, natives of South America. It is a 
 bird of most elegant form, its plumage is of a glossy 
 purplish black, the under parts of the body and 
 the tail feathers white. Some of this species are 
 kept in a tame state in America, as turkeys are in 
 England. 
 
 20. /. 128. Yaffil, the Woodpecker (Picus Vi- 
 ridus).~\ The name Yaffil is provincial, but is so 
 very expressive of the noise it continually makes, 
 
 d 2 
 
36 
 
 that I have preferred it on that account. It is a 
 beautiful bird, and is sometimes called the English 
 parrot ; the colour of its plumage, green, yellow, 
 and scarlet, giving it some resemblance to that 
 bird. It is extraordinary thatMons. Buffon should 
 describe the Wood-pecker as a solitary and melan- 
 choly bird ; it is certainly not considered so in 
 England. The late Sir Asheton Lever once told 
 me that in his county it was called the Laugher ; and 
 its noise certainly resembles that of a person laugh- 
 ing very heartily. — 
 
 Shrill screams the Stare, and long and loud 
 The Yaffil laughs from Aspen gray. 
 
 Mrs. Charlotte Smith. 
 
 Dr. Hurdis, a most accurate observer of nature, 
 calls it, 
 
 The Golden Woodpecker — who, like the fool, 
 Laughs loud at nothing. 
 
37 
 
 21./. 131. Stork (Ardea Cicinza).'} A mi- 
 gratory bird which appears in Germany about the 
 beginning of May ; they build in high trees and 
 on the tops of houses, where in Holland it is cus- 
 tomary to place boxes for their accommodation, and 
 where they are always received as welcome visitors, 
 from the great use they are of in devouring frogs, 
 snakes, and other reptiles ; all the birds of this spe- 
 cies are remarkable for the stateliness and dignity 
 of their walk, which is always in measured steps, 
 
 22. L 132. The Demoiselle. ,] A name by which 
 the Numidian Crane (Ardia Vigro) is distinguished 
 by the French naturalists on account of its elegant 
 form, beautiful turn, and singular carriage. It 
 walks with the lightness and grace of a stage, 
 dancer, bending its head and leaping, as if practi- 
 sing steps : this propensity is so striking, that all 
 authors who have mentioned this bird, from the 
 earliest times to the present, have remarked it 
 
38 
 
 23. 1. 137. Guillemot (Colgmbus).~\, A sea- 
 bird, of which there are several species numerously 
 spread over the northern world; from whence they 
 come towards winter to the British shores and re- 
 main till they have reared their young : it is some- 
 times called the foolish Guillemot from its stupidity : 
 for when their companions are shot one after ano- 
 ther, they have so little sense of danger, that they 
 make a small circuit, and then return and settle in 
 the same place, to share the same fate. 
 . 24. /. 139. Toucan (Ramphastos).'] A na- 
 tive of America, where it builds in the hollows of 
 trees, and sits at the entrance, ready to peck at the 
 monkeys, who often endeavour to destroy and eat 
 the young. It is about the size of a Magpie, but 
 the head large in proportion, to enable it to support 
 its immense bill, which is six inches and one half 
 in length, but extremely thin. It is a mild inof- 
 fensive bird, and easily tamed ; but cannot endure 
 
39 
 
 the cold of our climate ; the feathers of the breast 
 are highly esteemed by the natives. 
 I 25. L 140. Penguin {Aha Impermzs).'] Great 
 Auk or Gair-fowl. A sea-bird, which, from its in- 
 ability to fly, is seldom seen out of the water* 
 
 26. /. 142. Cross. Bill (Loxia.)~\ So called 
 because the two mandibles cross each other in dif- 
 ferent directions : they feed chiefly on the seeds of 
 fir-trees; the singular construction of their bills 
 being admirably adapted to separate the seeds 
 of the cones. The pips of apples is also a favourite 
 food, and to obtain them, they split the apple with 
 one stroke of their bill ; they are consequently 
 found to be very injurious to orchards. It has been 
 observed that they have been more frequently seen 
 in England since the Fir-tree has been generally 
 more planted, than formerly. 
 
 27. /. 144. Chicken Hazard.] The game of 
 
40 
 
 Hazard is so called when played for a comparatively 
 small stake. 
 
 28. I. 156 Siskin (Fringilla Spinus).~\ A 
 migratory bird which is seen in the Southern parts 
 of England at the time of the barley harvest, and is 
 sometimes called the Barley-bird. It has a pleasing 
 note, and is sold as a singing-bird in the London 
 bird-shops by the name of the Aberdevine. The 
 accusation of its flirtation with the Greenfinch is to 
 be understood as pure scandal, the most prying 
 naturalist never having discovered any particular 
 attachment between them. 
 
 29. L 171. Pelican (Pelicanus).'] A large 
 unwieldy bird, exceeding the Swan in size. Its 
 greatest singularity is its enormous pouch or bag, 
 attached to each side of the lower mandible of the 
 bill. It subsists almost wholly on fish, and makes 
 long excursions out to sea for the purpose of pro- 
 
 
41 
 
 curing its food. When it espies a fish near enough 
 the surface of the water, it darts upon it with un- 
 erring aim, and deposits it in its pouch ; and then 
 looks out for another, continuing to fish till it has 
 sufficiently replenished its bag ; when it returns to 
 its haunts to macerate its food at leisure. The an- 
 cients have attributed many amiable qualities to 
 this bird ; as of its feeding its young with its blood 
 and carrying water for them in its pouch ; but 
 these stories are considered as unfounded by mo- 
 dern naturalists. 
 
 30. /. Creeper (Certhia).~] A small bird of the 
 Genus Picae, which breeds in hollow trees : they are 
 formed for climbing, and run up and down the 
 trunks and branches of trees with their backs 
 downwards, in search of insects, which constitute 
 their only food. 
 
 31. L 191. Razor-bill (Alea).'] A migratory 
 sea-bird which visits the Northern shores in spring, 
 
42 
 
 and leaves them in winter ; they lay a single eg§ 
 on the ledges of the rocks without any nest, and 
 on which it is said to be fixed by a cement. 
 ; 32. I. 192. Spoonbill (Platea) t ~] So called 
 from the construction of the bill, which is flat the 
 whole length, but widens towards the end in the form 
 of a spoon or spatula ; and it is equally remarkable in 
 its substance, not being hard like bone, but flexible 
 like whalebone ; they feed on snakes, worms, 
 frogs, and fish, even on shellfish which they first 
 break with their bills. 
 
 • 33. !. C 2Q4. Agami (Or Trumpeter).'] So 
 called from the singular noise it makes, resem* 
 bling the instrument from which its name is taken. 
 It is a native of South America, and is capable of 
 being domesticated. It is remarkable for its at- 
 tachment and gratitude for its masters, whom it al- 
 ways distinguishes from other people. When it takes 
 a dislike to any person, it follows them, biting their 
 
43 
 
 legs, and shewing other marks of displeasure. It 
 likes to be caressed^ and will offer its head to be 
 stroked, but will suffer no other favourite to be no- 
 ticed by his master * 
 
THE MIMOSA. 
 
 Softly blow the western breezes, 
 Sweetly shines the evening sun ; 
 But you. Mimosa ! nothing pleases, 
 You, what delights your comrades teases, 
 What they enjoy you try to shun. 
 
 Alike annoy' d by heat or cold. 
 
 Ever too little or too much^ 
 As if by heaviest winds controul'd^ 
 Your leaves before a zephyr fold, 
 
 And tremble at the slightest touch. 
 
45 
 
 Flutt'ring around, in playful rings, 
 A gilded fly your beauty greeted ; 
 But, from his light and filmy wings, 
 As if he had lanc'd a thousand stings, 
 Your shuddering folioles retreated ! 
 
 Those feat^ry leaves are like the plume/ 
 Pluck'd from the bird of Indian skies ; 
 But should you therefore thus presume. 
 While others boast a fairer bloom, 
 All that surrounds you to despise ? 
 
 The rose, whose blushing blossoms Mow, 
 
 Pride of the vegetal creation, 
 The air and light disdains not so, 
 And the fastidious pride you show, 
 Is not reserve, but affectation. 
 
THE CANKERED ROSE. 
 
 As Spring to Summer hours gave way. 
 And June approach' d, beneath whose sway 
 My lovely Fanny saw the day, 
 
 I mark'd each blossom'd bower, 
 And bade each plant its charms display. 
 
 To crown the favour'd hour, 
 
 The favour'd hour to me so bright. 
 When Fanny first beheld the light. 
 And I should many a bloom unite, 
 
 A votive wreath to twine, 
 And with the lily's virgin white, 
 
 More glowing hues combine. 
 
48 
 
 A wreath that, while I hail'd the day, 
 All the fond things I meant, might say, 
 (As Indian maids their thoughts array, 
 
 By artful quipo's wove;) 
 And fragrant symbols thus convey 
 
 My tenderness and love. 
 
 For this I sought where long had grown, 
 
 A rosarie I calPd my own, 
 
 Whose rich unrivall'd flowers were known 
 
 The earliest to unclose, 
 And where I hop'd would soon be blown, 
 
 The first and fairest Rose, 
 
 An infant bud there cradled lay, 
 
 'Mid new born leaves - r and seem'd to stay 
 
49 
 
 Till June should call, with warmer ray. 
 Its embryo beauty forth ; 
 
 Reserv'd for that propitious day 
 
 That gave my Fanny birth. 
 
 At early morning's dewy hour, 
 I watch'd it in its leafy bower, 
 And heard with dread the sleety shower. 
 
 When eastern tempests blew ; 
 But still unhurt my favourite flower 
 
 With fairer promise grew. 
 
 From rains and breezes sharp and bleak 
 Secur'd, I saw its calyx break. 
 And soon a lovely blushing streak 
 
 The latent bloom betray'd * 
 
50 
 
 (Such colours on my Fanny's cheek. 
 
 Has cunning Nature laid.) 
 
 Illusive hope ! The day arriv'd, 
 I saw my cherish' d rose —It liv'd, 
 But of its early charms depriv'd, 
 
 No odours could impart ; 
 And scarce with sullied leaves, surviv'd 
 
 The canker at its heart. 
 
 There unsuspected, long had fed 
 
 A noxious worm, and mining spread 
 
 The dark pollution o'er its head, 
 
 That drooping seem'd to mourn 
 Its fragrance pure, and petals red, 
 
 Destroy 'd ere fully born. 
 
51 
 
 Unfinish'd now, and incomplete, 
 My garland lay at Fanny's feet, 
 She sniil'd ;— ah could I then repeat 
 
 What youth so little knows, 
 How the too trusting heart must beat 
 With pain, when treachery and deceit 
 In some insidious form, defeat 
 Its fairest hopes ; as cankers eat 
 
 The yet unfolded rose. 
 
 e2 
 
THE GLOW-WORM. 
 
 Bright insect ! that on humid leaves and grass 
 Light'st up thy fairy lamp ; as if to guide 
 The steps of labouring swains that homeward pass. 
 Well pleas' d to see thee chear the pathway side, 
 Betokening cloudless skies and pleasant days ; 
 While he whom evening's sober charms invite 
 In shady woodlanes, often stops to gaze. 
 And moralizing hails thy emerald light ! 
 On the fair tresses of the roseate morn, 
 Translucent dews, as precious gems appear, 
 Not less dost thou the night's dark hour adorn, 
 " Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear." 
 
53 
 
 Though the rude bramble, or the fan-like ferns, 
 Around thee their o'ershadowing branches spread, 
 Steady and clear thy phosphor brilliance burns. 
 And thy soft rays illuminate the shade. 
 Thus the calm brightness of superior minds 
 Makes them amid misfortune's shadow blest, 
 And thus the radiant spark of Genius shines, 
 Though skreen'd by Envy, or by Pride oppress'd. 
 
THE CAPTIVE FLY. 
 
 Oeduc'd by idle change and luxury, 
 See in vain struggles the expiring Fly, 
 He perishes ! for lo ? in evil hour, 
 He rush'd to taste of yonder garish flower, 
 Which in young beauty's loveliest colours drest, 
 Conceals destruction in her treacherous breast, 
 While round the roseate chalice odours breathe, 
 And lure the wanderer to voluptuous death. 
 
 Ill-fated vagrant ! did no instinct cry, 
 Shun the sweet mischief? — No experienc'd Fly- 
 Bid thee of this fair smiling fiend beware, 
 And say, the false Apocynum is there ? 
 
55 
 
 Ah ! wherefore quit for this Circean draught 
 The Bean's ambrosial flower, with incense fraught, 
 Or where with promise rich, Fragaria spreads 
 Her spangling blossoms on her leafy beds ? 
 Could thy wild flight no softer blooms detain ? 
 And tower'd the Lilac's purple groups in vain ? 
 Or waving showers of golden blossoms, where 
 Laburnum's pensile tassels float in air, 
 When thou within those topaz keels might'st creep 
 Secure, and rock'd by lulling winds to sleep. 
 
 But now no more for thee shall June unclose 
 Her spicy Clove-pink, and her Damask Rose ; 
 Not for thy food shall swell the downy Peach, 
 Nor Raspberries blush beneath the embowering 
 Beech. 
 
56 
 
 In efforts vain thy fragile wings are torn, 
 Sharp with distress resounds thy small shrill horn, 
 While thy gay happy comrades hear thy cry. 
 Yet heed thee not, and careless frolic by, 
 Till thou, sad victim, every struggle o'er, 
 Despairing sink, and feel thy fate no more* 
 An insect lost should thus the Muse bewail ? 
 Ah no ! but 'tis the moral points the tale 
 From the mild friend, who seeks with candid truth 
 To show its errors to presumptuous Youth ; 
 From the fond caution of parental care, 
 Whose watchful love detects the hidden snare, 
 How do the Young reject, with proud disdain, 
 Wisdom's firm voice, and Reason's prudent rein, 
 And urge, on pleasure bent, the impetuous way, 
 Heedless of all but of the present day ; 
 
m 
 
 Then while false meteor-lights their steps entice, 
 They taste, they drink, the empoison'd cup of vice ; 
 Till misery follows ; and too late they mourn. 
 Lost in the fatal gulph, from whence there's no 
 return. 
 
TO THE LADY-BIRD. 
 
 Oh ! Lady-bird, Lady-bird, why dost thou roam 
 So far from thy comrades, so distant from home ? 
 Why dost thou, who canst revel all day in the air, 
 Who the sweets of the grove and the garden canst 
 
 share ; 
 In the fold of a leaf, who canst form thee a bower, 
 And a palace enjoy in the tube of a flower ; 
 Ah, why, simple Lady-bird, why dost thou ven- 
 ture, 
 The dwellings of man so familiar to enter ? 
 Too soon you may find, that your trust is misplac'd, 
 When by some cruel child you are wantonly chas'd, 
 
59 
 
 And your bright scarlet coat, so bespotted with 
 
 black, 
 May be torn by his barbarous hands from your back; 
 And your smooth jetty corselet be pierc'd with a 
 
 pin, 
 That the urchin may see you in agonies spin ; 
 For his bosom is shut against pity's appeals, 
 He has never been taught that a Lady-bird feels. 
 Ah, then you'll regret you were tempted to rove, 
 From the tall climbing hop, or the hazle's thick 
 
 grove, 
 And will fondly remember each arbour and tree, 
 Where lately you wander' d contented and free ; 
 Then fly, simple Lady-bird ! — fly away home, 
 No more from your riest, and your children to 
 
 roam. 
 
THE HUMMING-BIRD 
 
 IVIinutest of the feather'd kind, 
 Possessing every charm combin'd ; 
 Nature, in forming thee, design'd 
 
 That thou shonld'st be 
 A proof within how little space, 
 She can comprise such perfect grace. 
 Rendering thy lovely fairy race, 
 
 Beauty's epitome* 
 
 Those burnish' d colours to bestow, 
 Her pencil in the heavenly bow 
 She dipp'd ; and made thy plumes to glow 
 With every hue 
 
61 
 
 That in the dancing sun-beam plays % 
 And with the ruby's vivid blaze, 
 Mingled the emerald's lucid rays 
 With halcyon blue. 
 
 Then plac'd thee under genial skies. 
 Where flowers and shrubs spontaneous rise 9 
 With richer fragrance, bolder dyes, 
 
 By her endued; 
 And bade thee pass thy happy hours 
 In tamarind shades, and palmy bowers, 
 Extracting from unfailing flowers 
 
 Ambrosial food. 
 
 There, lovely Bee-bird ! may'st thou rove 
 Thro' spicy vale, and citron grove, 
 
62 
 
 And woo, and win thy flattering love 
 
 With plume so bright ; 
 There rapid fly, more heard than seen, 
 'Mid orange-boughs of polish' d green, 
 With glowing fruit, and flowers between 
 Of purest white. 
 
 There feed, and take thy balmy rest, 
 There weave thy little cotton nest, 
 
 And may no cruel hand molest 
 
 Thy timid bride ; 
 Nor those bright changeful plumes of thine 
 Be offer' d on the unfeeling shrine, 
 Where some dark beauty loves to shine 
 
 In gaudy pride ! 
 
63 
 
 Nor may her sable lover's care 
 
 Add to the baubles in her hair 
 
 Thy dazzling feathers rich and rare | 
 
 And thou ? poor bird 5 
 
 For this inhuman purpose bleed ; 
 
 While gentle hearts abhor the deed^ 
 
 And mercy's trembling voice may pleadj 
 But plead unheard ! 
 
 Oh ! bid the thoughtless triflers know 5 
 Not all the hues thy plumes can show 
 Become them like the conscious glow 
 
 Of modesty : 
 And that not half so lovely seems 
 The ray that from the diamond gleams 3 
 As the pure gem that sweetly beams 
 
 In pity's eye ! 
 
THE HOT-HOUSE ROSE. 
 
 .A.N early Rose borne from her genial bower 
 Met the fond homage of admiring eyes, 
 
 And while young Zephyr fann'd the lovely flower. 
 Nature and Art contended for the prize. 
 
 Exulting Nature cried, I made thee fair, 
 'Twas I that nurs'd thy tender buds in dew ; 
 
 I gave thee fragrance to perfume the air, 
 
 And stole from beauty's cheek her blushing hue. 
 
 Vainly fastidious novelty affects 
 
 O'er Alpine heights and untrod wilds to roam, 
 From rocks and swamps her foreign plants collects, 
 
 And brings the rare but scentless treasures home. 
 
65 
 
 'Midst Art's factitious children let them be 
 In sickly state by names pedantic known, 
 
 But taste's unbiass'd eye shall turn to thee, 
 And love and beauty mark thee for their own, 
 
 Cease, goddess, cease, indignant Art replied, 
 And ere you triumph, know that but for me 
 
 This beauteous object of our mutual pride 
 Had been no other than a vulgar tree. 
 
 I snatch'd her from her tardy mother's arms, 
 Where sun-beams scorch and piercing tempests 
 blow ; 
 On my warm bosom nurs'd her infant charms, 
 Prun'd the wild shoot, and train'd the straggling 
 bough. 
 
66 
 
 I watch'd her tender buds, and from her shade 
 Drew each intruding weed, with anxious care, 
 
 Nor let the curling blight her leaves invade, 
 Nor worm nor noxious insect harbour there. 
 
 At length the beauty's loveliest bloom appears, 
 And Art from Fame shall win the promis'dboon, 
 
 While wayward April smiling through her tears 
 Decks her fair tresses with the wreaths of June. 
 
 Then, jealous Nature, yield the palm to me, 
 To me thy pride its early triumph owes ; 
 
 Though thy rude workmanship produc'd the tree, 
 5 Twas Education form'd the perfect Rose ! 
 
THE HUMBLE-BEE. 
 
 VJTood morrow, gentle Humble-bee, 
 You are abroad betimes, I see, 
 And sportive fly from tree to tree, 
 To take the air ; 
 
 And visit each gay flower that blows ; 
 While every bell and bud that glows, 
 Quite from the daisy to the rose, 
 Your visits share. 
 
 Saluting now the pie'd carnation, 
 Now on the aster taking station, 
 
 Murmuring your ardent admiration ; 
 
 Then off you frisk, 
 
 f2 
 
68 
 
 Where poppies hang their heavy heads, 
 Or where the gorgeous sun-flower spreads 
 For you her luscious golden beds, 
 On her broad disk. 
 
 To live on pleasure's painted wing, 
 To feed on all the sweets of Spring, 
 Must be a mighty pleasant thing, 
 If it would last. 
 
 But you, no doubt, have wisely thought, 
 These joys may be too dearly bought, 
 And will not unprepar'd be caught. 
 When Summer 's past. 
 
 For soon will fly the laughing hours, 
 And this delightful waste of flowers 
 Will shrink before the wint'ry showers 
 And winds so keen. 
 
69 
 Alas ! who then will lend you aid ; 
 If your dry cell be yet unmade, 
 Nor store of wax and honey laid 
 In magazine ? 
 
 Then, Lady Buzz, you will repent, 
 That hours for useful labour meant 
 Were so unprofitably spent. 
 And idly lost. 
 
 By cold and hunger keen oppress' d, 
 Say, will your yellow velvet vest, 
 Or the fur tippet on your breast, 
 
 Shield you from frost? 
 
 Ah! haste your winter stock to save, 
 That snug within your Christmas cave, 
 When snows fall fast and tempests rave, 
 You may remain , 
 
70 
 And the hard season braving there, 
 On Spring's warm gales you will repair ; 
 Elate thro' crystal fields of air, 
 to bliss again I 
 

 THE DORMOUSE JUST TAKEN. 
 
 >3leep on, sleep on, poor captive mouse, 
 
 Oh sleep ! unconscious of the fate 
 That ruthless spoil'd thy cosey* house, 
 
 And tore thee from thy mate. 
 
 What barbarous hand could thus molest 
 
 A little innocent like thee. 
 And drag thee from thy mossy nest 
 
 To sad captivity ? 
 
 Ah ! when suspended life again 
 
 Thy torpid senses shall recall, 
 Poor guiltless prisoner ! what pain 
 
 Thy bosom shall appal ! 
 
 * Cosey, a Scottish expression for snug. 
 
72 
 When starting up in wild affright, 
 
 Thy bright round eyes shall vainly seek 
 Thy tiny spouse, with breast so white, 
 
 Thy whisker' d brethren sleek ; 
 
 Thy snug warm nest with feathers lin'd, 
 Thy winter store of roots and corn ; 
 
 Nor nuts nor beech-mast shalt thou find. 
 The toil of many a morn. 
 
 Thy soft white feet around thy cage 
 Wil cling ; while thou in hopeless pain 
 
 Wilt waste thy little life in rage. 
 To find thy struggles vain ! 
 
 Yet since thou'rt fall'n in gentle hands, 
 Oh ! captive mouse, allay thy grief, 
 
 For light shall be thy silken bands, 
 And time afford relief. 
 
73 
 Warm is the lodging, soft the bed. 
 
 Thy little mistress will prepare ; 
 By her kind hands thou shalt be fed, 
 
 And dainties be thy fare. 
 
 But neither men nor mice forget 
 
 Their native home, where'er they be, 
 
 And fondly thou wilt still regret 
 
 Thy wild woods, loves, and liberty ! 
 
THE SQUIRREL. 
 
 The Squirrel, with aspi ring mind, 
 Disdains to be to earth confin'd, 
 
 But mounts aloft in air : 
 The pine-tree's giddiest height he climbs, 
 Or scales the beech-tree's loftiest limbs, 
 
 And builds his castle there. 
 
 As Nature's wildest tenants free, 
 A merry forester is he, 
 
 In oak-o'ershadow'd dells, 
 Or glen remote, or woodland lawn, 
 Where the doe hides her infant fawn. 
 
 Among the birds he dwells. 
 
75 
 
 Within some old fantastic tree, 
 Where time has worn a cavity, 
 
 His winter food is stor'd : 
 The cone beset with many a scale ? 
 The chesnut in its coat of mail, 
 
 Or nuts, complete his hoard. 
 
 And of wise prescience thus possess' d, 
 He near it rears his airy nest, 
 
 With twigs and moss entwin'd, 
 And gives its roof a conic form. 
 Where safely shelter' d from the storm, 
 
 He braves the rain and wind. 
 
 Though plumeless, he can dart away ; 
 Swift as the woodpecker or jay, 
 His sportive mate to woo : 
 
76 
 
 His summer food is berries wild* 
 And last year's acorn cups are fill'd 
 For him with sparkling dew. 
 
 Soft is his shining auburn coat, 
 As ermine white his downy throat. 
 
 Intelligent his mien ; 
 With feathery tail and ears alert, 
 And little paws as hands expert, 
 
 And eyes so black and keen. 
 
 Soaring above the earth-born herd 
 Of beasts, he emulates the bird, 
 
 Yet feels no want of wings : 
 Exactly pois'd, he dares to launch 
 In air, and bounds from branch to braucfr 
 
 With swift elastic springs. 
 
77 
 
 And thus the Man of mental worth 
 May rise above the humblest birth^ 
 
 And adverse Fate control ; 
 If to the upright heart be join'd 
 The active persevering mind, 
 
 And firm unshaken soul. 
 
THE NAUTILUS. 
 
 Where southern suns and winds prevail^ 
 And undulate the Summer seas ; 
 
 The Nautilus expands his sail ? 
 
 And scuds before the fresh'ning breeze. 
 
 Oft is a little squadron seen 
 
 Of mimic ships all rigg'd complete ; 
 
 Fancy might think the fairy queen 
 Was sailing with her elfin fleet. 
 
 With how much beauty is design' d 
 Each channeled bark of purest white ! 
 
79 
 
 With orient pearl each cabin lin'd, 
 Varying with every change of light. 
 
 While with his little slender oars, 
 His silken sail and tapering mast, 
 
 The dauntless mariner explores 
 The dangers of the watery waste. 
 
 Prepar'd, should tempests rend the sky, 
 From harm his fragile bark to keep, 
 
 He furls his sail, his oar lays by, 
 And seeks his safety in the deep. 
 
 Then safe on ocean's shelly bed, 
 
 He hears the storm above him roar ; 
 
 'Mid groves of coral glowing red, 
 Or rocks o'erhung with madrepore. 
 
80 
 
 So let us catch life's favouring gale, 
 But if fate's adverse winds be rude. 
 
 Take calmly in th' adventurous sail v 
 And find repose in Solitude. 
 
THE ROBIN's .PETITION. 
 
 * € ix suppliant to your window comes, 
 u Who trusts your faith and fears no guile 5 
 
 u He claims admittance for your crumbs, 
 u And reads his passport in your smile. 
 
 M For cold and cheerless is the day, 
 
 u And he has sought the hedges round; 
 
 ic No berry hangs upon the spray, 
 
 u Nor worm nor ant-egg can be found 
 
 u Secure his suit will be preferr'd, 
 11 No fears his slender feet deter; 
 
82 
 " For sacred is the household bird 
 " That wears the scarlet stomacher.*' 
 
 Lucy the prayer assenting heard, 
 The feather'd suppliant flew to her, 
 
 And fondly cherish'd was the bird, 
 That wears the scarlet stomacher, 
 
 Embolden'd then, he'd fearless perch 
 Her netting or her work among, 
 
 For crumbs among her drawings search, 
 And add his music to her song ; 
 
 And warbling on her snowy arm, 
 Or half entangled in her hair, 
 
83 
 
 Seem'd conscious of the double charm 
 Of freedom, and protection there. 
 
 A graver moralist, who us'd 
 
 From all some lesson to infer, 
 Thus said, as on the bird she mus'd, 
 
 Pluming his scarlet stomacher — 
 
 iQ Where are his gay companions now, 
 u Who sung so merrily in Spring ? 
 
 66 Some shivering on the leafless bough, 
 cc With ruffled plume, and drooping wing. 
 
 <c Some in the hollow of a cave, 
 
 iC Consign' d to temporary death; 
 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 u And some beneath the sluggish wave 
 u Await reviving nature's breath. 
 
 u The migrant tribes are fled away, 
 
 a To skies where insect myriads swarm, 
 
 u They vanish with the Summer day, 
 " Nor bide the bitter northern storm. 
 
 u But still is this sweet minstrel heard, 
 u While lours December dark and drear, 
 
 6C The social, chearful, household bird, 
 f* That wears the scarlet stomacher. 
 
 u And thus in life's propitious hour, 
 cc Approving flatterers round us sport, 
 
85 
 
 c * But if the faithless prospect lour, 
 u They the more happy fly to court. 
 
 u Then let us to the selfish herd 
 u Of fortune's parasites prefer, 
 
 u The friend like this, our Winter bird, 
 " That wears the scarlet stomacher.'' 
 
THE SPIDER, 
 
 Arachne ! poor degraded maid ! 
 Doom'd to obscurity's cold shade. 
 The price your vanity has paid 
 
 Excites my pity. 
 No wonder you should take alarm, 
 Lest vengeance in a housewife's form. 
 Your fortress should attack by storm, 
 
 And raze your city. 
 
 In truth you are not much befriended, 
 For since with wisdom you contended. 
 And the stern Goddess so offended. 
 Each earthly Pallas 
 
87 
 
 Views you with horror and affright. 
 Shrinks with abhorence from your sight, 
 Signing your death-warrant in spite. 
 To pity callous. 
 
 You were not cast in Beauty's mould, 
 You have no shard of burnish'd gold, 
 No painted wing can you unfold 
 
 With gems bespotted* 
 Your form disgusting to all eyes, 
 The Toad in ugliness outvies, 
 And nature has her homeliest guise 
 
 To you allotted. 
 
 Yet, if with philosophic eye, 
 
 The Young would but observe you ply 
 
88 
 
 Your patient toil, and fortify 
 
 Your habitation ; 
 Spreading your net of slenderest twine, 
 Each artful mesh contriv'd to join, 
 Strengthening with doubled thread the line 
 
 Of circumvallation. 
 
 Methinks your curious progress would 
 Give them a lecture full as good 
 As some ; so little understood, 
 
 So much affected. 
 And as you dart upon your prey, 
 Might they not moralize and say, 
 Spiders and Men alike betray 
 
 The unprotected ? 
 
89 
 
 Might you not tell the light coquette, 
 Who spreads for some poor youth her net, 
 Entangling thus without regret 
 
 Her simple lover ; 
 That such ensnarers of the heart, 
 Might in contemplating your art, 
 Her own unworthy counterpart 
 
 In you discover ? 
 
 Your sober habits then compare. 
 With those bright insects who repair 
 To sport and frolick thro' the air, 
 All gay and winning ; 
 While you your household cares attend, 
 Your toils no vain pursuits suspend, 
 
90 
 
 But carefully your nets you mend, 
 
 And mind your spinning. 
 
 The Butterfly, while life is new, 
 
 As he has nothing else to do, 
 
 May like a Bond- street beau pursue 
 
 His vagrant courses ; 
 But nature to her creatures kind, 
 You to an humbler fate consigned, 
 Yet taught you in yourself to find 
 
 Your own resources. 
 
AN ORIENTAL APOLOGUE. 
 
 A sage once in his lonely pathway found 
 
 A substance which such od'rous power pos- 
 sess'd ; 
 
 That as he breath' d the perfume spread around, 
 He thus his pleasure and surprize express' d : 
 
 Whence com'st thou ? soft enchanter of the sense ; 
 
 What zephyr bore thee on his rosy wing ; 
 Did chemic art thy blended sweets dispense, 
 
 Or hast thou robb'd the treasury of Spring ? 
 
 Do precious gums these grateful airs diffuse, 
 From Musk from Amber do these scents arise ? 
 
92 
 
 Fell they from heav'n combin'd with purest dews? 
 Ah no ! a soft harmonious voice replies. 
 
 Nature to me has given no inborn worth ; 
 
 And if delicious odours I disclose, 
 I claim them not, who am but vulgar earth, 
 
 5 Tis that I've liv'd the inmate of the Rose. 
 
 Where-e'er her balmy influence prevails, 
 Around the soul-reviving spirit spread ; 
 
 And I the fragrant essence have inhal'd, 
 
 And drank the dews her crimson petals shed. 
 
WRITTEN IN SOUTHAMPTON 
 in 1806. 
 
 1 hus didst thou smile, enchanting scene ! 
 Thus Summer's hand in freshest green. 
 
 These oak-crown'd banks had dress'd; 
 So shone the sun in cloudless pride, 
 Such the blue heav'n the sparkling tide 
 
 Reflected on its breast. 
 
 When gay of heart I sought thy strand, 
 To join a lov'd and social band, 
 
 In youth's delightful hours ; 
 Joy in each bosom then beat high, 
 And pleasure beam'd from every eye, 
 
 And health and hope were ours. 
 
94 
 
 As yonder glaucing sun-beam falls, 
 With glowing light on Calshot's walls. 
 
 And Vesta's purple height ; 
 S often' d by distance, so appears 
 In hope's false glass our future years, 
 
 To youth's deluded sight. 
 
 As with white sail and pennants gay, 
 Our gallant vessel won its way, 
 
 And caught the playful wind • 
 We fondly thought that such wou'd be 
 Our voyage thro' life's tempestuous sea, 
 
 Nor reck'd the storms behind. 
 
 We thought not then of threatening skies, 
 Nor yet what adverse winds might rise, 
 
95 
 
 To drive us from the coast ; 
 That tempest-tost on passion's tide, 
 How soon — unskill'd the helm to guide, 
 
 Might shipwreck'd peace be lost. 
 
 Ah ! why will memory once more, 
 Fond thoughts and vain regrets restore, 
 
 By time almost effac'd ; 
 Why bid me count of that fair train, 
 How few ! and those what wrecks, 
 
 To tell of tempests past ? 
 
 Far happiest they, whose struggles o'er, 
 Have reach' d the port on death's safe shore, 
 And clos'd their troubl'ous day ; 
 
96 
 
 While my frail bark must still abide, 
 Neglect's cold winds, and sorrow's tide. 
 And urge her lonely way. 
 
 But dark despair can ne'er o'erwhelm, 
 While Fortitude still keeps the helm, 
 
 With Patience at her side ; 
 While Hope still points to happier lands. 
 And Faith entrusts to mortal hands, 
 
 Her compass for their guide. 
 
TO A FRIEND, 
 
 WHO ASSERTED THAT LIFE HAD NO PLEASURE 
 AFTER EARLY YOUTH. 
 
 1 ell me no more, repining Friend, 
 u That, Youth's gay holiday once past, 
 
 u Our false and fleeting pleasures end, 
 " And life has lost all zest and taste. 
 
 i6 That when love's bandeau time shall steal, 
 u The wayward boy will soon take wing, 
 
 " While taught by cold neglect we feel, 
 u That friendship knows no second spring* 
 
 u To sordid selfishness a prey, 
 
 u The palsied heart forgets to feel ; 
 
98 
 
 cc Nor generous impulse can obey 
 
 u Where cautious age has set his seal." 
 
 Hence, cheerless pencil ! whose harsh lines 
 And sombre tints my soul disclaims : 
 
 Time mellows friendship, like old wines ; 
 And tempers love's too ardent flames. 
 
 Why dress in clouds the autumn day ? 
 
 Because the spring's bright dawn is fled. 
 Why cast the amaranth away ? 
 
 Because the vernal rose is shed. 
 
 Tho' summer's fervent heat is spent. 
 Sweet is the evening hour of reason, 
 
 The time to gather in content, 
 
 The wholesome fruit of every season. 
 
ON WIT. 
 
 Seducing Wit, thou soul-enlivening ray, 
 Deceptive fire, that shines but to betray ; 
 Meteor, whose blaze infatuates the sight 
 With brilliant but unprofitable light. 
 Thou rare, but fatal Gift ! invidious art, 
 The subtle poison that corrupts the heart ; 
 Perfidious inmate even to the breast. 
 Where thou'rt most fondly cherish' d and caress'd : 
 In thee what various qualities combine, 
 And who thy Proteus nature can define i 
 Condemn'd tho' courted — hated tho' admir'd ; 
 Dreaded in others, by ourselves desir'd ; 
 
100 
 Shunn'd by the dull, by wisdom disapprov'd. 
 By most applauded, but by few belov'd. 
 'Tis thine to aim the sharp envenom'd dart. 
 With skill unerring, at a kindred heart. 
 To raise, unmindful of discretion's laws, 
 An host of foes to gain — one fool's applause. 
 Thine the keen sarcasm and the quick retort, 
 The playful malice — that can wound in sport. 
 Aw'd by the piercing glances of thine eyes, 
 Affrighted Love expands his wings and flies ; 
 And as a flower that shrinks beneath the blight, 
 Insulted friendship sickens at thy sight ; 
 Yet when with all thy gay and sportive grace 
 Thou com'st to light up joy in every face, 
 And bring'st frank pleasantry and fancy wild, 
 With humour quaint, thy mirth-inspiring child ; 
 
101 
 
 When calm forbearance checks thy rapid tide, 
 And judgment deigns thy erring steps to guide ; 
 While mild good-humour tempers every dart 5 
 And bids thee throw thy scorpion lash apart. 
 Who but must yield to thy bewitching power. 
 And rather brave the thorn — -than lose the flower, 
 Resentment soften' d by thy smile disarms, 
 And ev'n relenting wisdom owns thy charms. 
 
 Oh winning mischief, fertile source of ill, 
 While I condemn thee — I must love thee still 
 By reason prompted I would break thy chain, 
 But one bright look would lure me back again. 
 
AN ENIGMA, 
 
 Jr rance gave me birth and made my merits known, 
 England receiv'd and rear'd me as her own ; 
 By her promoted to a lofty station, 
 I labour in the service of the nation ; 
 And though my foreign lineage may provoke 
 Honest John Bull, who hates Outlandish folk, 
 He need not fear me — for I'm heart of oak. 
 Fix'd to a spot, yet constantly in motion, 
 I bring intelligence from land and ocean, 
 And without quitting my appointed place, 
 Scarce thought itself is quicker in the race ; 
 The gossip Fame may throw her trumpet by, 
 She cannot spread reports so quick as I : 
 
103 
 
 Yet I've no tongue— -and few my language read. 
 
 But with my brethren I'm so well agreed, 
 
 That tho' we live full many a mile apart, 
 
 To each the same idea we impart ; 
 
 So sympathize that when I silence break, 
 
 As by one impulse mov'd, the rest all speak. 
 
 Submissive I am rul'd by others' hands. 
 Yet fleets and armies move by my commands ; 
 I boast no beauty — and yet Lords of State 
 Watch all my looks, and on my motions wait ; 
 And tho' unvers'd in politics' deep school, 
 I'm of the minister a useful tool ; 
 An Oracle whose words admit no doubts, 
 And credited alike by ins and outs ; 
 To military skill I've no pretence, 
 Yet on the war depends my consequence. 
 
104 
 
 Peace once restor'd, neglected I shall mourn 
 My honours lost, u my occupation gone :" 
 Yet why despair, for surely there remains 
 Some Gallic spirit yet within my veins ? 
 And Frenchmen, ever fruitful in resources. 
 Can turn their talents into different courses ; 
 Pliant can bend to ev'ry change of fate. 
 Whether they guide the stew-pan or the state ; 
 So if by fierce Bellona I'm dismiss'd, 
 Beneath soft Cupid's banners I'll enlist. 
 
 Lovers, my graphic skill employ'd for you, 
 Will supersede the tell-tale billet-doux. 
 No more the rude Philistines of a court, 
 Shall turn your soft effusions into sport ; 
 When I the love-inspiring sentence frame 
 In words as evanescent as your flame. 
 
105 
 
 No longer shall the impatient Fair bewail 
 The lingering postman, or the tardy mail. 
 When I love's gentler signals to obey. 
 The tender wish, and ardent vow convey, 
 u Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, 
 6i And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.' 
 
ADDRESS TO THE MOON. 
 
 The following lines were suggested by the story 
 of a Lady, who having had her son removed from 
 her protection, at a very early age, adopted the 
 same expedient of carrying on an imaginary inter- 
 course with him, as was devised by the two Lovers 
 mentioned in one of the old French romances, viz. 
 that of looking at the Moon at stated periods, 
 agreed on between them. The son (who was well 
 known to the author) has frequently assured her, 
 that no occupation or amusement ever withheld 
 him on moon-light nights from a dutiful obser- 
 vance of this her last injunction, during the short 
 period she survived their separation, and that 
 through life he never could look at the Moon, 
 without associating with it the tender recollection 
 of a beloved and unhappy mother. 
 
107 
 
 Oh ! silver Moon ! fair sovereign of night, 
 Dear to my heart is thy returning light. 
 Thy tranquil influence seems to soothe my pain. 
 For Sorrow loves thy soft and silent reign— 
 And as I watch thy orb serene and mild, 
 My soul springs forth to meet my absent child ; 
 Yes, at this hour to sadness ever sweet, 
 On thy bright disk our pensive eyes shall meet ; 
 One ray of bliss from thee I yet enjoy, 
 One point of union with my darling boy ; 
 Nor time nor absence from his gentle breast 
 Can e'er efface his mother's last behest ; 
 Ev'n now — he gazes on thy trem'lous light, 
 Thro' the fond filial tear that dims his sight; 
 My faded form before his eyes appears, 
 He feels my touch — my languid voice he hears ; 
 
108 
 
 Each word endearing I was wont to speak, 
 While my warm kisses glow upon his cheek. 
 Oh ! it is soothing to my soul to know, 
 One link yet binds us in this yale of woe. 
 
 Methinks the wandering spirits of the air 
 Smile as they pass, and tell me he is there ; 
 Tell me his eyes are fix'd intent on thee, 
 While ev'ry tender thought reverts to me. 
 
 Return, aerial Forms ! return and bear 
 The mother's wishes, and the mother's prayer; 
 Tell him, my heart, with his lov'd image fraught, 
 Beats but for him, nor owns another thought, 
 Morn sees me bend before the heav'nly throne, 
 Night hears me pleading for my absent Son. 
 But him! no tender mother's anxious care 
 Shall teach to raise his little hands in prayer, 
 
109 
 
 Instruct his tongue to lisp his Maker's praise, 
 Or guide his footsteps in his sacred ways. 
 To virtue who shall lead his erring youth ? 
 The rugged path of science who shall smooth ? 
 What eye, where sorrow meets parental love, 
 Weep for the fault, which Duty must reprove ? 
 Whose care shall watch the couch of dire disease ? 
 His infant griefs, what voice shall lull to peace ? 
 Since never more to this maternal breast, 
 Shall the dear idol of my soul be prest. 
 For in the cruel hour that bade us part, 
 Death wing'd th' impoison'd arrow to my heart \ 
 And ere, bright Planet ! thou shalt thrice renew 
 Thy crescent in yon arch of heavenly blue, 
 Low shall my head be laid in endless rest ; 
 My wounded spirit, mingled with the blest 
 
110 
 
 And if (when this tumultuous scene we leave, 
 
 As Fancy prompts th' enthusiast to believe) 
 
 It is permitted from the realms above 
 
 To watch the objects of our earthly love, 
 
 Sure pitying Heav'n will grant the boon I ask, 
 
 To guard my infant be my sacred task ; 
 
 Round his lov'd head my sheltering wings to 
 
 spread, 
 Glide in his path, and hover o'er his bed. 
 And as thro' time's dark veil my trusting eye 
 (Sketch'd by hope's golden pencil) can descry 
 The latent features of his manly mind, 
 By early sorrows ripen' d and refin'd, 
 The ardent spirit and the graceful form, 
 The heart with ev'ry kind affection warm ; 
 By fond remembrance urg'd, the youth will prove 
 How well the child deserv'd his mother's love. 
 
Ill 
 
 Then to these mournful scenes he will return. 
 And wash with tears my long-neglected urn. 
 And when, O lovely Moon ! thy silver rays 
 Shall shed their tranquil light on happier days, 
 Thy sight shall still, with my sad image join'd, 
 Recall his mother's memory to his mind. 
 
# 
 
 THE RECLUSE AND THE BEAR. 
 
 On the wild confines of an aged wood, 
 A simple Swain possess'd a little spot. 
 
 On which his neat paternal mansions stood ; 
 And hitherto contented with his lot ; 
 
 He led a solitary, blameless life, 
 
 In rural occupation spent his hours ; 
 
 And far from busy scenes of noise and strife, 
 Wooed contemplation in her woodland bow'rs. 
 
 His little garden was his only pride, 
 
 Vot'ry of Flora ; and that blooming fair, 
 
113 
 
 So hardly won to be Vertumnus' bride. 
 The kindred goddesses his homage share : 
 
 With smiles propitious they reward his toil, 
 And grant him fostering dews and genial show- 
 ers, 
 
 Instruct him to reclaim the stubborn soil, 
 
 And how to train his shrubs and rear his flower*. 
 
 Our horticulturist with fond delight 
 
 Watch' d every opening bud and tender germ ; 
 Shelter'd his infant plants from frost and blight, 
 
 And sought with careful hand th' insidious worm ; 
 
 Hail'd the first Snow-drop, stealing from its sheath ; 
 The early Daffodil, and Primrose pale ; 
 
114 
 
 And caught the bashful Violet's fragrant breath, 
 Or the soft-scented Lily of the Vale ; 
 
 Till, fiekle April past, the laughing Hours, 
 Dress'd in fresh garlands, ied propitious May : 
 
 And now his garden bloom'd in richer flowers, 
 Jonquils, Anemones, Ranunculus gay, 
 
 And drooping Hyacinths, that fear to face. 
 Their ancient enemy's destructive breath, 
 
 So fatal to the founder of their race, 
 
 Whom Phoebus lov'd in life, and mourn'd in 
 death. 
 
 The Woodbine round his little lattice twin'd ; 
 The clustering Lilac and Sweet-briar among, 
 
115 
 
 Like golden tresses waving in the wind 
 
 Laburnham's flexile wreaths luxuriant hung. 
 
 As thoughtful on his spade the Swain reclin'd, 
 
 And saw his flowers so fair, his shrubs so green, 
 
 At his unsocial state he first repin'd ; 
 
 And sigh'd — u What pity ! they must bloom 
 unseen. 
 
 u Had I a friend", said he, u or e'en a wife, 
 
 a Who could with me my simple pleasures share ; 
 a To break this sad monotony of life, 
 u Whose smiles approving — would reward my 
 care. 
 
 " For vain the gardener's skill, the florist's art; 
 
 " Tasteless the fruit which friendship does not 
 
 share; 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 cc My flowers to me no pleasure can impart, 
 u Since no one says. How beautiful they are !' 
 
 These thoughts depressed him all the summer thro', 
 And vague designs his wav'ring fancy fill ; 
 
 For rapidly the lovely season flew, 
 
 And soon the days grew short, the evenings 
 chill. 
 
 Then came the Equinox — The ruffian winds, 
 With russet leaves his late trim walks deform : 
 
 And pale and faint the cheerless sun declines : 
 The wreaths of autumn wither in the storm. 
 
 The Hollyoak, which tower'd the garden's glory, 
 Now humbled in the dust, unseemly lies ; 
 
117 
 
 And lovelorn Clytia, fam'd in fabled story 5 
 Turns to the Sun no more her golden eyes* 
 
 Then to his sadden' d fan qy came in view, 
 Hyemal horrors, dress' d in sad array ; 
 
 Ere Spring his silent pleasures would renew ? 
 How many dreary months must pass away I 
 
 The prospect so appall' d him, that one mora, 
 With staff and scrip he left his lone retreat ; 
 
 Thro' paths which human steps had never worn, 
 He trod the doubtful way, with timorous feet. 
 
 It chanc'd within the forest's ample range, 
 A Bear, sole monarch of the desart, dwelt ; 
 
118 
 
 Satiate of power, and longing for a change, 
 He too the weariness of life had felt. 
 
 For war and hunting he had pass'd the age \ 
 His wife was dead, his cubs were all full-grown ; 
 
 So he'd a fancy now to play the sage, 
 
 Like the Fifth Charles, and abdicate his throne. 
 
 In foreign parts to travel for a while, 
 
 He left his cavern in the mountain's side ; 
 
 And thought his restless humour to beguile 
 By sweet variety, and scenes untried. 
 
 From different points, each traveller pursued 
 The same wild track o'erarch'd with aged trees : 
 
119 
 
 High fern obstructs the path, and brambles rude. 
 And the sear leaves fall rustling in the breeze. 
 
 The Hermit stopp'd, and fear'd he knew not what, 
 Unthought-of dangers might his steps pursue^ 
 
 And half repentant turned towards his cot. 
 Just as the feline stranger came in view, 
 
 And met the trembling Swain with solemn pace 
 No aid was near, or prospect of retreating ; 
 
 *Twas wisest then to wear a fearless face. 
 And seem delighted at the happy meeting. 
 
 Love at first sight, we know is nothing rare ; 
 And may not friendship's flame as quickly glow ? 
 
120 
 
 Betwixt our solitary and the Bear 
 
 (The fable says,) it really happened so. 
 
 The one, a beast of no great observation, 
 Fancied he'd met the wonder of the age ; 
 
 The other not much us'd to conversation. 
 
 Thought Bruin's brief remarks profoundly sage. 
 
 So on a short acquaintance, they agreed 
 Henceforth to live in amity eternal ; 
 
 To be sworn brothers, both in word and deed, 
 And seal'd the bond with many a hug fraternal. 
 
 The Swain recalling now his long.lov'd cottage, 
 Homeward propos'd his weary steps to bend, 
 
121 
 
 And press'd his new-made friend to share his pot- 
 tage, 
 And without further toil their travels end* 
 
 With rustic frankness Bruin yields consent. 
 And side by side in social guise they walk ; 
 
 No pair of lovers e'er were more content, 
 As they jogg'd on in confidential talk. 
 
 The Bear upon his power and wealth declaim' d ? 
 
 Then on his ancestry, and told with pride 
 The constellation, Ursa Major nam'd, 
 
 Was once his grandam by the mother's side, 
 
 a O'er these domains," said he, a our powerful race ? 
 " Longer than I can count, have held the sway j 
 
122 
 
 " Most bears would be contented in my place, 
 cc But life with me wears wearily away. 
 
 u Of mere ennui I languish in my prime, 
 u In cheerless solitude I waste the day ; 
 
 " And ever since my lady Bruin's time, 
 u I've been in a sad melancholy way." 
 
 Conversing thus, they reach the cot — the Swain 
 
 Thought absence to his home new charms had 
 
 lent ; 
 His late deserted Lares hails again, 
 
 And then, u on hospitable thoughts intent," 
 
 Brings from his hoards whate'er he has the best, 
 Apples and nuts, and honey from the comb ? 
 
123 
 
 Sir Bruin feasts, and wants not to be prest, 
 Happy to find himself so much at home. 
 
 In mutual acts of courtesy and love, 
 
 The friends at first liv'd on — time slid away, 
 
 And both had vanquish'd ev'ry wish to rove. 
 For January seem'd as blythe as May. . 
 
 But novelty soon lost the power of charming ; 
 
 The man now wonder' d what strange fancy caught 
 him. 
 Quoth he, " This creature there is no great harm in, 
 
 "But he's not quite the personage I thought him. 
 
 " To judge by looks indeed, one might infer, 
 " My friend was some grave magistrate at least. 
 
124 
 
 " Or some ' budge Doctor of the Stoic for/ 
 " But to speak truth, he's but a stupid beast" 
 
 Then in his garden labour' d till the hour 
 When 'twas his custom to indulge in sleep : 
 
 And while reposing in his pleached bower, 
 'Twas Bruin's office watch and ward to keep. 
 
 One morning when the sun shone bright and warm, 
 And from each cranny rous'd the insect-youth. 
 
 With catlike zeal against the buzzing swarm. 
 He sought to prove himself a friend in truth, 
 
 And vow'd no straggler should escape his grasp, 
 Who dar'd intrude upon his friend's repose ; 
 
125 
 
 When, to excite his wrath, a daring wasp. 
 Presumptuous settled on the sleeper's nose, 
 
 u What insolence !" quoth he, and made a stroke, 
 Which drove the bold assailant from his station, 
 
 Who still renewed th' attack — it would provoke 
 A saint ! and Bruin growl' d with mere vexation ; 
 
 Then fir'd with ill-judg'd ardour, aim'd a blow 
 Of weight to crush the commonwealth of flies ; 
 
 It laid the winged interloper low, 
 
 But his poor comrade wak'd with two black eyes. 
 
 Thus rous'd from sleep, the Swain astound and 
 bleeding, 
 Kindled with rage ; but prudence check'd his arm, 
 
126 
 
 As crouching on the earth the culprit pleading, 
 Swore on his honour, "that he meant no harm." 
 
 While in his grief some ursine tears he shed, 
 And hop'd a well-meant deed had not offended ; 
 
 u No," said the sufferer, "when you broke my head, 
 u I have no doubt 'twas vastly well intended, 
 
 u But henceforth, friend of mine, we'll live asunder, 
 u For love like yours more fatal far than hate is ; 
 
 u And I most justly suffer for my blunder, 
 u Who could elect a Bear for my Achates." 
 
 THE END. 
 
BOOKS 
 
 LATELY PUBLISHED BY JOHN MURRAY, 
 FLEET-STREET^ LONDON. 
 
 1. 
 
 MEMOIRS of MARMONTEL. Written by 
 Himself. Containing his Literary and Political 
 Life, and Anecdotes of the Principal Characters 
 of the Eighteenth Century. A New Translation, 
 with Notes and Illustrations. By the Author of 
 the Swiss Emigrants, 4 vol. 12mo. 11. Is. 
 
 2. 
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 consisting of Anecdotes, Characters, Sketches, and 
 Observations, literary, critical, and historical. 
 With a Facsimile of Pope's Manuscript Homer. 
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 — Miscellanies in Prose and Verse. — Corre- 
 spondence with Mr. Richardson on the Subject 
 of Parental Authority and Filial Obedience. — 
 A Series of Letters to Mrs. Elizabeth Carter. 
 —And Fugitive Pieces. To these is prefixed, 
 an authentic Life of the Author, drawn up by her 
 own Family, 4 vol. Foolscap 8vo. 16s. 
 
 

 Books lately published by John Murray. 
 
 Mrs. Chapone's Letters on the Mind, and 
 Miscellanies, may be purchased separately, 
 Price 4s. each. And her Posthumous Works, 
 2 vol. Price 8s. 
 
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 Notes and Poetry, descriptive of Oriental Scene- 
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 The Lovers, or the Birth of the Pleasing Arts, an 
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 Edition. With an Engraving after a Design by 
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 5. 
 
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