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On barb'rous plunder bent, with savage eye

He mark'd where wrapt in down the younglins lay, Then rushing feiz'd the wretched family,

And bore them in his impious hands away.

But how fhall I relate in numbers rude
pangs poor * Chryfomitris decreed!
When from a neighb'ring spray aghaft she view'd
The favage ruffian's inaufpicious deed!

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So wrapt in grief fome heart-ftruck matron ftands, While horrid flames furround her children's room! On heav'n fhe calls, and wrings her trembling hands, Constrain'd to fee, but not prevent their doom.

"O grief of griefs! with fhrieking voice the cry'd, "What fight is this that I have liv'd to see ? "O! that I had a maiden-goldfinch died,

"From love's falfe joys, and bitter forrows free!

"Was it for this, alas! with weary bill,

"Was it for this, I pois'd th' unwieldy ftraw? "For this I pick'd the moss from yonder hill? "Nor fhun'd the pond'rous chat along to draw?

Chryfomitris, it seems, is the name for a goldfinch.


"Was it for this, I cull'd the wool with care;

"And ftrove with all my skill our work to crown? "For this, with pain I bent the ftubborn hair;

"And lin❜d our cradle with the thiftle's down?

"Was it for this my freedom I refign'd;

"And ceas'd to rove from beauteous plain to plain? "For this I fate at home whole days confin'd,

And bore the scorching heat, and pealing rain ?


"Was it for this, my watchful eyes grow dim?
"The crimson roses on my cheek turn pale?
"Pale is my golden plumage, once so trim;
"And all my wonted spirits 'gin to fail.

"O plund❜rer vile! O more than weezel fell!

"More treach'rous than the cat with prudifh face! "More fierce than kites with whom the furies dwell! "More pilf'ring than the cuckow's prowling race!

"For thee may plumb or goofb❜ry never grow,
"No juicy currant cool thy clammy throat:
"But bloody birch-twigs work thee shameful woe,
"Nor ever goldfinch cheer thee with her note."


Thus fang the mournful bird her piteous tale,

The piteous tale her mournful mate return'd : Then fide by fide they fought the distant vale, And there in filent fadness inly mourn'd.

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By the Same.


HE fun had chas'd the mountain fnow,
And kindly loos'd the frozen foil,
The melting streams began to flow,
And ploughmen urg'd their annual toil.

'Twas then, amid the vocal throng

Whom nature wakes to mirth and love,
A blackbird rais'd his am'rous fong,
And thus it echo'd through the grove.

O fairest of the feather'd train!
For whom I fing, for whom I burn,
Attend with pity to my strain,

And grant my love a kind return.


For fee the wintry ftorms are flown,

And gentle Zephyrs fan the air;
Let us the genial influence own,
Let us the vernal paftime share.

The raven plumes his jetty wing

To please his croaking paramour;
The larks refponfive ditties fing,

And tell their paffion as they foar.

But trust me, love, the raven's wing
Is not to be compar'd with mine;
Nor can the lark fo fweetly fing

As I, who ftrength with fweetness join.

O! let me all thy fteps attend!

I'll point new treasures to thy fight;
Whether the grove thy wifh befriend,

Or hedge-rows green, or meadows bright.

I'll fhew my love the clearest rill

Whose streams among the pebbles ftray, These will we fip, and fip our fill,

Or on the flow'ry margin play.

I'll lead her to the thickest brake,

Impervious to the school-boy's eye; For her the plaifter'd neft I'll make, And on her downy pinions lie.

When prompted by a mother's care,
Her warmth shall form th' imprifon'd young;

The pleafing task I'll gladly fhare,

Or cheer her labours with my fong.

To bring her food I'll range the fields,
And cull the best of every kind;
Whatever nature's bounty yields,

And love's affiduous care can find.

And when my lovely mate would stray

To tafte the fummer fweets at large, I'll wait at home the live-long day,

And tend with care our little charge.

Then prove with me the fweets of love,

With me divide the cares of life; No bufh fhall boaft in all the grove So fond a mate, fo bleft a wife.


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