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The Linnet, Chaffinch, Goldfinch, Thrush, ·
In Fleet-street dwelt, in days of yore,
In basket-prison hung on high,
As doubtful whence proceeds the found.
This dissipated life, of course,
And now, between each beart-felt figh,
Observe, through life you'll always find
and with a figh Takes one fond look, and lets him fly.
Now Mag, once more with freedom bless'd,
The Gardner now, with busy cares,
A curious net he does prepare,
The vengeful clown, now fill'd with ire,
Now, in revenge for plunderd seed,
Mag, who with man was us’d to herd,
Out jumps'the Gard'ner in a fright, And runs away with all his might; And as he runs, impress’d with dread, Exclaims, “ The Devil's in the shed !"
The wond'rous tale a Bencher hears, And sooths the man, and quells his fears ;
Gets Mag secur'd in wicker cage,
FRIEND of my youthful days, for ever paft,
When whim and harmless folly rul'd the hour, Ah! art thou stretch'd amid the straw at laft?
These eyes, with tears, thy dying looks devour. Bless'd would I soften thy hard bed of death,
And with new floods the fount of life supply: Yes, Peter, bless'd would I prolong thy breath,
Renew each nerve, and cheer thy beamless eye. But wherefore wish? Thy lot is that of all :
Thy friend, who mourns, muft yield to Nature's law; Like thee must fink; and o'er each dark’ning ball
Will Death's cold hand th' eternal curtain draw. Piteous thou liftest up thy feeble head,
And mark'st me dimly, with a dumb adieu ; And thus amid thy hopeless looks I read,
“ Faint is thy fervant, and his moments few. « With thee no more the hills and vales I tread;
“ Those times, so happy, are for ever o'er : “ Ah! why should Fare, lo cruel, cut our thread,
“ And part a friendship that must meet no more? “ O! when these languid lids are shut by Fate,
“ O! let in peace these aged limbs be laid “ 'Mid that loy'd field which saw us oft of late,
“ Beneath our favorite willow's ample fhade ! “ And if my Master chance to wander nigh,
“ Beside the spot where Peter's bones repose, “ Let your poor servant claim one little figh;
" Grant this and bless'd these for
Yes, thou poor Spirit yes,--thy with is minema
Yes, be thy grave. beneath the willow's gloom There (hall the sod, the greeneft fod, be thine;
And there the brightef flow'r of spring fhall bloom. Oft to the field as Health my footstep draws,
Thy turf shall surely catch thy Master's eye ; There on thy sleep of death shall Friendship pause,
Dwell on paft days, and leave thee with a figh.
When Innocence upon our actions smild!
Thou a wild cub, and I a cub as wild:
How oft we wander'd at the peep of morn,
And Silence listend to the beetle's horn.
The various trophies by thy fleetness won;
Beheld the feats by namesake Peter done.
friends I oft will give our tale ; When, lo! 'thofe friends will rush thy fod to see,
And call thy peaceful region-Peter's VALE.
THE BEGGAR'S PETITION.
With Additions by GUION.
EREAV'D of friends, inheritance, and rest,
An aged mortal, plaintive, beggʻd his way ; And spurn’d by grandeur, when he made request,
Thus, at the door of worth, was heard to fay: " Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ;