VERSES

TO A ROBIN REDBREAST,

Who visited the windows of my prison every day.

WELCOME, pretty little stranger!

Welcome to my lone retreat! Here, secure from ev'ry danger, Hop about and chirp and eat, Robin! how I envy thee, Happy child of liberty!

Now, though tyrant Winter howling,
Shakes the world with tempests round;
Heaven above with vapours scowling,
Frost imprisons all the ground;-

Robin! what are these to thee?
Thou art blest with liberty.

Though yon fair majestic river

Mourns in solid icy chains;

Though yon flocks and cattle shiver,

On the desolated plains,

Robin! thou art gay and free,
Happy in thy liberty.

Hunger never shall distress thee,

While my cates one crumb afford; Colds nor cramps shall ne'er oppress thee; Come and share my humble board. Robin! come and live with me,

Live-yet still at liberty.

Soon shall Spring, in smiles and blushes,
Steal upon the blooming year;
Then, amid th' enamour'd bushes,
Thy sweet song shall warble clear;
Then shall I too, join'd with thee,
Swell the hymn of liberty.

Should some rough unfeeling Dobbin,

In this iron-hearted age,

Seize thee on thy nest, my Robin!

And confine thee in a cage; Then, poor Robin! think of me, Think-and sigh for liberty;

Liberty, the brightest jewel

In the crown of earthly joys! All sensations else are cruel,

All delights besides are toys, None by captives, such as me

Know the worth of liberty.

Written during a confinement in York Castle.

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.

A TALE.

WILL Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hir'd lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat, he appear'd like a tun,
Or like two single gentlemen roll'd into one.

He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated,
But all the night long he felt fever'd and heated;
And though heavy to weigh as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same;-and the next ;-and the next;
He perspir'd like an ox; he was nervous and vex'd:
Week pass'd after week, till, by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months, his acquaintance began much to doubt

him;

For his skin, like a lady's loose gown, hung about him. He sent for a doctor; and cried, like a ninny,

"I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea."

The doctor look'd wise:-" A slow fever," he said;
Prescrib'd sudorifick's,-and going to bed.
"Sudorifick's in bed (exclaim'd Will) are humbugs,
I've enough of them here, without paying for drugs."

Will kick'd out the doctor:-but, when ill indeed,
E'eu dismissing the doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host-he said,-" Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago?

"Look'e, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin, "That with honest intentions you first took me in; But from the first night-and to say it I'm boldI have been so d-d hot, that I'm sure I caught cold."

Quoth the landlord-" Till now I ne'er had a dispute;
I've let lodgings ten years;-I'in a baker to boot;
In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven,
And your bed is immediately-over my oven."

"The oven!!! says Will-says the host, "Why this passion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion; Why so crusty, good sir?" "Zounds!" cries Will, in a taking,

"Who wouldn't be crusty with half a year's baking?"

Will paid for his rooms; cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you've been going away half a year; Friend, we can't well agree"-" Yet no quarrel "-Will

said;

66 For one man may die where another makes bread.” Geo. Colman, Jun.

STANZAS

On the Funeral Ceremonies at his Brother's Tomb.

Translated from Catullus.

THRO' various realms, o'er various seas I come, To see that each due sacrifice be paid,

To bring my last sad off'ring to thy tomb,

And thy mute dust invoke, fraternal shade!

Yes, hapless brother! since the hand of fate
Hath snatch'd thee ever from my longing sight;
As us'd our ancestors, in solemn state,

I'll bring each mystic gift, each fun'ral rite!

With many a tear I will the ground bedew—
Spirit of him I lov'd, those tears receive!
Spirit of him I valued most, adieu !
Adieu to him who sleeps in yonder grave!

FOR THE BLIND ASYLUM

AT LIVERPOOL.

STRANGER, pause--for thee the day
Smiling pours its cheerful ray,

Spreads the lawn, and rears the bower,
Lights the stream, and paints the flower.