ΤΟ

A REDBREAST,

THAT FLEW IN AT MY WINDOW.

FROM Snowy plains, and icy sprays,
From moonless nights, and sunless days,
Welcome, poor bird! I'll cherish thee;
I love thee, for thou trustest me.
Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest!
Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast :—
How quick thy little heart is beating!
As if its brother flutterer greeting.

Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom;
No; freely flutter round my room;
Perch on my lute's remaining string,
And sweetly of sweet summer sing.
That note, that summer note, I know;
It wakes at once, and soothes my woe;
I see those woods, I see that stream,
I see,-ah, still prolong the dream!
Still with thy song those scenes renew,
Though through my tears they reach my view.

No more now, at my lonely meal,

While thou art by, alone I'll feel;
For soon, devoid of all distrust,

Thou'lt nibbling share my humble crust;
Or on my finger, pert and spruce,
Thou'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice;
And when (our short collation o'er)

Some favourite volume I explore,

Be't work of poet or of sage,

Safe thou shalt hop across the page;

Unchecked, shalt flit o'er VIRGIL's groves, Or flutter 'mid TIBULLUS' loves,

Thus, heedless of the raving blast,

Thou'lt dwell with me till winter's past; And when the primrose tells 'tis spring, And when the thrush begins to sing, Soon as I hear the woodland song,

Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng.

ЕРІТАРН

ON A BLACKBIRD KILLED BY A HAWK.

WINTER was o'er, and spring-flowers decked the glade ; The Blackbird's note among the wild woods rung: Ah, short-lived note! the songster now is laid Beneath the bush on which so sweet he sung.

Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent,
Are now all soiled among the mouldering clay;
A primrosed turf is all thy monument,

And for thy dirge the Redbreast lends his lay.

THE

POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.

YON

ON motley, sable-suited throng, that wait Around the poor man's door, announce a tale Of woe; the husband, parent, is no more.

Contending with disease, he laboured long,
By penury compelled; yielding at last,
He laid him down to die; but, lingering on
From day to day, he from his sick-bed saw,
Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want
Veiled in a clouded smile; alas! he heard