TO A FROG. POOR being! wherefore dost thou fly? Indulge a passing trav'ler's sight, I would but pause awhile, to view And see how well thy limbs can glide No savage sage am I, whose pow'r No barb'rous schemes this hand shall try, Ah! let him not, whose wanton skill The wreath of praise attain ! Monthly Magazine. THE MOUSE'S PETITION. Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos. OH! hear a pensive captive's pray'r, And never let thy heart be shut For here forlorn and sad I sit, And tremble at th' approaching morn, If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd, Oh! do not stain with guiltless blood Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd The scatter'd gleanings of a feast But if thine unrelenting heart The cheerful light, the vital air, The well-taught philosophic mind Or, if this transient gleam of day Let pity plead within thy breast So may thy hospitable board With health and peace be crown'd, And ev'ry charm of heartfelt ease Beneath thy roof be found. So when unseen destruction lurks, Mrs. Barbauld. STANZAS TO ILL-NATURE. FIEND abhorr'd, mankind's worst foe! Hence, thy darksome crew amongHaste and with thy jaundic'd brow, Fly the muse's vengeful song. Oft the hapless muse hath borne, Born of envy, nurs'd by spleen, Fraud and falsehood swell thy train, Baff'd malice all thy pain, Does the muse with sportive pow'r Stifle peace, and nurture fear. Does the flow of joy, or ease, Humble genius, slender grace, Blacken'd by thy foul report, Mirth is mischief, laughter guile; Snares are seen in ev'ry sport, Perfidy in ev'ry smile. Still thy arts, malicious fiend, Still thy hell-born schemes would fail, Did not oft the valued friend Listen to thy specious tale. Vain were each insidious charge, Did, alas! the world at large Only hear, and only trust. Did not oft the secret lie Break the bond of private peace, Bid domestic comfort fly, Love subside, and friendship cease; |