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Long time a breeding-place they sought,

Till both grew vex'd and tired;
At length a ship arriving brought

The good so long desired.
A ship!-could such a restless thing

Afford them place of rest?
Or was the merchant charged to bring

The homeless birds a nest?
Hush—Silent hearers profit most

This racer of the sea
Proved kinder to them than the coast,

It served them with a tree.
But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal,

The tree they call a Mast,
And had a hollow with a wheel

Through which the tackle pass'd. Within that cavity aloft

Their roofless home they fix'd, Form'd with materials neat and soft,

Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd. Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor,

With russet specks bedight-
The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore,

And lessens to the sight.
The mother-bird is gone to sea,

As she had changed her kind;
But goes the male? Far wiser he

Is doubtless left behind ?
No-Soon as from ashore he saw

The winged mansion move,
He flew to reach it, by a law

Of never failing love.

Then perching at his consort's side

Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blast defied,

And cheer'd her with a song.
The seaman with sincere delight

His feather'd shipmates eyes,
Scarce less exulting in the sight

Than when he tows a prize.
For seamen much believe in signs,

And from a chance so new
Each some approaching good divines,
And

may his hopes be true! Hail, honour'd land! a desert where

Not even birds can hide, Yet parent of this loving pair

Whom nothing could divide. And ye who, rather than resign

Your matrimonial plan, Were not afraid to plough the brine

In company with man. For whose lean country much disdain

We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain

But wantonness and woe.
Be it your fortune, year by year,

The same resource to prove,
And may ye, sometimes landing here,

Instruct us how to love!

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A TALE,

FOUNDED ON A FACT, WHICH HAPPENED IN JANUARY, 1779,

WHERE Humber pours his rich commercial stream,

[pheme. There dwelt a wretch, who breathed but to blasIn subterraneous caves his life he led, Black as the mine, in which he wrought for bread. When on a day, emerging from the deep, A sabbath-day (such sabbaths thousands keep!) The

wages of his weekly toil he bore To buy a cock—whose blood might win him more; As if the noblest of the feather'd kind Were but for battle and for death design'd; As if the consecrated hours were meant For sport, to minds on cruelty intent; It chanced (such chances Providence obey), He met a fellow-labourer on the way, Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed; But now the savage temper was reclaim’d. Persuasion on his lips had taken place; For all plead well who plead the cause of grace. His iron-heart with Scripture he assail'd, Woo'd him to hear a sermon, and prevail'd. His faithful bow the mighty preacher drew, Swift, as the lightning-glimpse, the arrow flew. He wept; he trembled; cast his eyes around, To find a worse than he; but none he found. He felt his sins, and wonder'd he should feel. Grace made the wound, and grace alone could heal.

I DET

Now farewell oaths, and blasphemies, and lies!
He quits the sinner's for the martyr's prize.
*That holy day was wash'd with many a tear,
Gilded with hope, yet shaded too by fear.
The next his swarthy brethren of the mine
Learn’d, by his alter'd speech—the change divine !
Laugh'd when they should have wept, and swore

the day
Was nigh, when he would swear as fast as they.

No (said the penitent): such words shall share
This breath no more; devoted now to prayer.
0! if thou seest (thine eye the future sees),
That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these;
Now strike me to the ground, on which I kneel,
Ere yet this heart relapses into steel;
Now take me to that heaven I once defied,
Thy presence, thy embrace !-He spoke and

died!

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THRIVE, gentle plant! and weave a bower

For Mary and for me,
And deck with many a splendid flower

Thy foliage large and free.
Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shade

(If truly I divine)
Some future day the’ illustrious head

Of Him who made thee mine.

around found

Id feel ould be

284 A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S-BOWER.
Should Daphne show a jealous frown

And Envy seize the bay,
Affirming none so fit to crown

Such honour'd brows as they.
Thy cause. with zeal we shall defend,

And with convincing power;
For why should not the Virgin's Friend

Be crown'd with Virgin's-bower?

EPIGRAM. To purify their wine some people bleed A lamb into the barrel, and succeed; No nostrum, planters say, is half so good To make fine sugar, as a negro's blood. Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things, And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs, 'Tis in the blood of innocence aloneGood cause why planters never try their own.

EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELEY. Tears flow, and cease not, where the good man Till all who knew him follow to the skies. [lies, Tears therefore fall where Chester’s ashes sleep; Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants

weepAnd justly-few shall ever him transcend As husband, parent, brother, master, friend.

END OF VOL. I.

C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.

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