And right toward the favour'd place
Proceeding with his nimbleft pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,

Juft reach'd it when the fun was fet.

Your hermit, young and jovial firs!
Learns fomething from whate'er occurs→→→→
And hence, he faid, my mind computes
The real worth of man's pursuits.
His object chofen, wealth or fame,
Or other fublunary game,
Imagination to his view

Prefents it deck'd with ev'ry hue
That can feduce him not to fpare
His pow'rs of beft exertion there,
But youth, health, vigour, to expend
On fo defirable an end.

Ere long, approach life's evening fhades,
The glow that fancy gave it fades ;
And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace
Which firft engag'd him in the chase.
True, aufwer'd an angelic guide,

Attendant at the fenior's fide-
But whether all the time it cost

To urge the fruitless chase be loft,

Must be decided by the worth

Of that which call'd his ardour forth.
Trifles purfu'd, whate'er th' event,
Must cause him fhame or difcontent;
A vicious object ftill is worse,
Successful there, he wins a curse;
But he, whom e'en in life's last stage
Endeavours laudable engage,

Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And sense of having well defign'd;
And if, ere he attain his end,
His fun precipitate descend,

A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompense his mere intent.
No virtuous with can bear a date
Either too early or too late.

THE FAITHFUL FRIEND.

THE green-house is my fummer feat;
My fhrubs difplac'd from that retreat
Enjoy'd the open air;

Two goldfinches, whofe fprightly fong
Had been their mutual folace long,
Liv'd happy pris'ners there.

They fang, as blithe as finches fing
That flutter loofe on golden wing,
And frolic where they lift;

Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,

But that delight they never knew,
And, therefore, never miss'd.

But nature works in ev'ry breast ;
Inftinct is never quite suppress'd;

And Dick felt fome defires,
Which, after many an effort vain,
Inftructed him at length to gain

A pafs between his wires.

The open windows feem'd to invite

The freeman to a farewell flight;

But Tom was ftill confin'd;

And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too gen'rous and fincere
To leave his friend behind.

For, fettling on his grated roof,
He chirp'd and kifs'd him, giving proof
That he defir'd no more;

Nor would forfake his cage at last,

'Till gently feiz'd, I fhut him faft, A pris'ner as before.

Oh

ye, who never knew the joys Of Friendship, fatisfied with noise, Fandango, ball and rout!

Blush, when I tell you how a bird,
A prison, with a friend, preferr'd
To liberty without.

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.

A FABLE.

I SHALL not afk Jean Jacques Rouffeau *,
If birds confabulate or no;

'Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least, in fable;
And ev❜n the child, who knows no better,
Than to interpret by the letter,
A ftory of a cock and bull,

Muft have a moft uncommon skull.

It chanc'd then, on a winter's day, But warm and bright, and calm as May, The birds, conceiving a defign

To forestal sweet St. Valentine,

In many an orchard, copfe, and grove,
Affembled on affairs of love,

* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reafon and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his fenfes ?