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ON THE SAME.
1. WHEN wit and genius meet their doom
In all devouring flame,
They felt the rude alarm, Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept His sacred head from harm.
III. There Memory, like the bee, that's fed
From Flora's balmy store, The quintessence of all he read Had treasured
Have done him cruel wrong;
The honey on his tongue.
THE LOVE OF THE WORLD
THUS says the prophet of the Turk,
* It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found its way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.
Thus, conscience freed from every clog,
You laugh—'tis well-The tale applied
ON THE DEATH
OF MRS. (now LADY) THROCKMORTON'S
YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
O share Maria's grief!
Assassin'd by a thief.
Of flagelet or flute.
His bosom of the hue
To sweep away the dew.
No cat had leave to dwell;
Large built, and latticed well.
Fór Bully's plumage sake, But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, With which, when neatly peel'd and dried,
The swains their baskets make.
LADY THROCK MORTON'S BULFINCH. 177
Night veil'd the pole, all seem'd secure :
Subsistence to provide,
And badger.colour'd hide.
And something in the wind
Food chiefly for the mind,
In sleep he seem'd to view
Awoke, and found it true.
Ah, muse! forbear to speak
He left poor Bully's beak."
Of such mellifluous tone,
Fast stuck within his own.
Op Thracian Hebrus' side
The cruel death he died.