282 THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. In hope to bask a little yet, Just reach'd it when the fun was set. Your hermit, young and jovial firs! His object chofen, wealth or fame, Prefents it deck'd with ev'ry hue Ere long, approach life's evening fhades, And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace But whether all the time it cost To urge the fruitless chafe be loft, Of that which call'd his ardour forth. A vicious object still is worse, A brighter prize than that he meant THE FAITHFUL FRIEND. THE green-houfe is my fummer feat; Two goldfinches, whofe fprightly fong They fang, as blithe as finches fing Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But nature works in ev'ry breast; And Dick felt fome defires, A pafs between his wires. The open windows feem'd to invite But Tom was still confin'd; And Dick, although his way was clear, For, fettling on his grated roof, He chirp'd and kiss'd him, giving proof That he defir'd no more ; Nor would forfake his cage at laft, 'Till gently feiz'd, I shut him fast, A pris'ner as before. Oh ye, who never knew the joys Blush, when I tell you how a bird, THE FAITHFUL FRIEND. THE green-houfe is my fummer feat; Two goldfinches, whofe fprightly fong They fang, as blithe as finches fing Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But nature works in ev'ry breast; And Dick felt fome defires, A pass between his wires. |