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The Linnet, Chaffinch, Goldfinch, Thrush, .
In Fleet-ftreet dwelt, in days of yore,
In basket-prison hung on high,
As doubtful whence proceeds the found.
This dislipated life, of course,
And now, between each heart-felt figh,
Obferve, through life you'll always find
cage, and with a figh Takes one fond look, and lets him fly.
Now Mag, once more with freedom blessid,
The Gardner now, with busy cares,
A curious net he does prepare,
Now, in revenge for plunder'd seed,
Mag, who with man was us’d to herd,
around the room
Out jumps'the Gardiner in a fright,
The wond'rous tale a Bencher hears,
Gets Mag secur'd in wicker cage, 2 ?
FRIEND of my youthful days, for ever paft,
, 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 alles
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 servant, 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 Fate, fo cruel, cut our thread,
“ And part a friendship that must meet no more? “ O! when these languid lids are fut by Fate,
“ O! let in peace these aged limbs be laid 66 'Mid that loy'd field which saw us oft of late,
“ Beneath our fav’rite 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 ligh;
“ Grant this and bless'd these for
Yes, thou poor Spirit) yes--thy with is minema
Yes, be thy grave beneath the Willow's gloomThere shall the sod, the greeneft sod, be thine ;
And there the brightex 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 past days, and leave thee with a figh.
When Innocence upon our actions (mild!
Thou a wild cub, and I a cub as wild:
peep Till Night had wrapp'd the world
in spectred gloom, And Silence liften'd to the beetle's horn. Thy victories will I recount with joy,
The various trophies by thy fleetness won; And boast that I, thy playfellow, a boy,
Beheld the feats by namesake Peter done. Yes, yes, (for grief must yield at times to glee, Amidst
friends I oft will give our tale; When, lo! those friends will rush thy fod to see,
And call thy peaceful region-Peter's Vale.
THE BEGGAR'S PETITION.
With Additions by GUION.
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 say: “ Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to our door;