Bid thefe in elegance of form excel,
In colour these, and thofe delight the fmell,
Sends nature forth the daughter of the skies,
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes;
To teach the canvafs innocent deceit,

Or lay the landfcape on the fnowy fheet,
Thefe, thefe are arts parfu'd without a crime,
That leave no ftain upon the wing of time.
Mc, poetry (or rather, notes that aim
Feebly and vainly at poetic fame)

Employs, fhut out from more important views,
Faft by the banks of the flow winding Oufe;
Content, if thus fequefter'd I may raife
A monitor's though not a poet's praife,
And while I teach an art too little known,
To clofe life wifely, may not wafte my own.

THE

THE

DOVE S.

I.

REAS'NING at every step he treads,
Man yet miftakes his way,

While meaner things, whom inftin&¦leads,
Are rarely known to ftray.

II.

One filent eve I wander'd late,

And heard the voice of love, The turtle thus addrefs'd her mate, And footh'd the lift'ning dove :

III.

Our mutual bond of faith and truth,

No time fhall difengage,

Thofe bleffings of our early youth,

Shall cheer our latest age.

IV. While

IV.

While innocence without difguife,
And conftancy fincere,

Shail fill the circles of thofe eyes,

And mine can read them there.

V.

Thofe ills that wait on all below,

Shall ne'er be felt by me,

Or gently felt, and only so,

As being fhar'd with thee.

VI.

When lightnings flash among the trees, Or kites are hov'ring near,

I fear left thee alone they feize,

And know no other fear.

VII.

"Tis then I feel myself a wife,

And prefs thy wedded fide,

Refolv'd an union form'd for life,
Death never shall divide.

VIII.

But oh! if fickle and unchafte,

(Forgive a tranfient thought)

Thou couldst become unkind at last,
And fcorn thy present lot,

IX.

No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak,
Denied th' endearments of thine eye
This widow'd heart would break.

X.

Thus fang the sweet sequester'd bird,
Soft as the paffing wind,

And I recorded what I heard,

A leffon for mankind.

A raven while with gloffy breaft,
Her new-laid eggs fhe fondly prefs'd,
And on her wicker-work high mounted
Her chickens prematurely counted,
(A fault philofophers might blame
If quite exempted from the fame)
Enjoy'd at eafe the genial day,
'Twas April as the bumkins fay,
The legislature call'd it May.
But fuddenly a wind as high
As ever swept a winter fky,
VOL. I.

}

M

Shook

Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fill'd her with a thousand fears,
Left the rude blaft fhould fnap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But juft at eve the blowing weather,
And all her fears were hufh'd, together:
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,
'Tis over, and the brood is fafe;

(For ravens, though as birds of emen,
They teach both conj'rers and old women
To tell us what is to befall,

Can't prophefy themselves, at all.)

The morning came, when neighbour Hodge,
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge,

And deftin'd all the treafure there

A gift to his expecting fair,

Climb'd like a fquirrel to his dray,
And bore the worthlefs prize away.

M .O RA L.

'Tis providence alone fecures

In every change, both mine and your's.
Safety confifts not in escape

From dangers of a frightful shape,
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's ftrangled by a hair.

Fatt