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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
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?
"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,
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.
The BLACKBIRDS. An Elegy.
By the Same.
HE fun had chas'd the mountain fnow,
'Twas then, amid the vocal throng
Whom nature wakes to mirth and love,
O fairest of the feather'd train!
And grant my love a kind return.
For fee the wintry ftorms are flown,
And gentle Zephyrs fan the air;
The raven plumes his jetty wing
To please his croaking paramour;
And tell their paffion as they foar.
But trust me, love, the raven's wing
As I, who ftrength with fweetness join.
O! let me all thy fteps attend!
I'll point new treasures to thy fight;
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,
The pleafing task I'll gladly fhare,
Or cheer her labours with my fong.
To bring her food I'll range the fields,
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.