And with his mallet and his file Now, therefore, Edipus! declare Its purpose with so much ado At last produces!-tell me true, SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. NONE ever shared the social feast, Beneath the celebrated dome Where once Sir Isaac had his home, Their nest they weave in hope of crumbs, And oft as with its summons clear The warning bell salutes their ear, Sagacious listeners to the sound, None more attentive to the call. FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. As in her ancient mistress' lap They gave each other many a tap, But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, And with protruded claws Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm, Mere wantonness the cause. At once, resentful of the deed, She shakes her to the ground With many a threat that she shall bleed With still a deeper wound. But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest: For she that will with kittens jest INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. SWEET bird, whom the winter constrainsAnd seldom another it can To seek a retreat while he reigns In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man, Who never can seem to intrude, Though in all places equally free, Come, oft as the season is rude, Thou art sure to be welcome to me. At sight of the first feeble ray That pierces the clouds of the east, To inveigle thee every day My windows shall show thee a feast. For, taught by experience, I know, Thee mindful of benefit long; And that, thankful for all I bestow, Then, soon as the swell of the buds Bespeaks the renewal of spring, Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods, Or where it shall please thee to sing And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost, Only pay as thou paid'st me before. This music must needs be confess'd Unchangeable friendship and love? Or boasts any musical powers? STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. THE shepherd touch'd his reed; sweet Philomel Essay d, and oft essay'd to catch the strain, And treasuring, as on her ear they fell, The numbers, echo'd note for note again. The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before And soon (for various was his tuneful store) She dared the task, and, rising as he rose, With all the force that passion gives inspired. Return'd the sounds awhile, but in the close Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired. Thus strength, not skill prevail'd. O fatal strife, By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun; And, O sad victory, which cost thy life, And he may wish that he had never won! ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY, WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER ANCIENT dame, how wide and vast All thy multitude of years! We, the herd of human kind, Frailer and of feebler powers; Death's delicious banquet-we Nourish'd but to feed the tomb. Seeds of merciless disease Lurk in all that we enjoy ; |