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ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade,
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S-GIFT.
TO MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON.
MARIA! I have ev'ry good
For thee wish'd many a time,
But never yet in rhime.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly,
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possess'd
Can I for thee require,
To thy whole heart's desire?
None here is happy but in part:
Full bliss is bliss divine;
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish on some fair future day,
Which Fate shall brightly gild, ("Tis blameless be it what it may)
I wish it all fulfill'd.
ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
PATRON of all those luckless brains,
That, to the wrong side leaning,
And little or no meaning.
Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
In constant exhalations,
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,
A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air
It floats a vapour now, Impelld through regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow.
Ordain'd perhaps ere summer flies,
Combin'd with millions more, To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
So soon to be forgot!
Phæbus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,
With equal grace below.
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau*,
* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables, which ascribe reason and speech to animals, should be withheld from children, as being only vebicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them; or can be, against the evidence of his senses?