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The BLACKBIRDS. An Elegy,

By the fame.

HE fun had chas'd the mountain fnow,

TH

And kindly loos'd the frozen foil,

The melting streams began to flow,
And plowmen 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 thro' the grove.

O faireft of the feather'd train!

For whom I fing, for whom I burn,
Attend with pity to my ftrain,
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

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

As I, who strength with sweetness join.

O! let me all thy steps attend!

I'll point new treasures to thy fight;
Whether the grove thy wish befriend,
Or hedge-rows green, or meadows bright.

I'll fhew

my love the cleareft 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 plaister'd neft I'll make,
And on her downy pinions lie.

When prompted by a mother's care,

Her warmth shall form th' imprisoned young;

The pleafing task I'll gladly share,

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

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

He ceas'd his fong. The melting dame
With foft indulgence heard the ftrain;
She felt, fhe own'd a mutual flame,
And hafted to relieve his pain.

He led her to the nuptial bower,
And neftled closely to her fide;
The fondest bridegroom of that hour,
And fhe, the most delighted bride.

Next morn he wak'd her with a fong,
"Behold, he said, the new-born day!
"The lark his matin peal has rung, -
"Arife, my love, and come away.”

Together thro' the fields they stray'd,

And to the murm'ring riv'let's fide; Renew'd their vows, and hopp'd and play'd, With honeft joy, and decent pride."

When

When oh! with grief the Muse relates
The mournful fequel of my tale ;
Sent by an order from the fates

A gunner met them in the vale.

Alarm'd the lover cry'd, My dear,
Hafte, hafte away, from danger fly;
Here, gunner, point thy thunder here;
O fpare my love, and let me die.

At him the gunner took his aim;
His aim alas was all too true :
O! had he chofe fome other game!
Or fhot- as he was wont to do!

Divided pair! forgive the wrong,

While I with tears your fate rehearse I'll join the widow's plaintive fong, And fave the lover in my verse.

**{*}*{*}*<*>*<*}*<*}X{*}X{*}*X

The

RAKE.

By a Lady in NEW ENGLAND.

Video meliora proboque,

Deteriora fequor.

N open heart, a generous mind,

But paffion's flave, and wild as wind;

HOR.

In theory, a judge of right;
Tho' banish'd from its practice quite :

So loose, so proftitute of foul,

His nobler wit becomes the tool.
Of every importuning fool:

A thousand virtues mifapply'd;

While reason floats on paffion's tide:
The ruin of the c afte and fair;

The parent's curfe, the virgin's fnare:
Whofe falfe example leads aftray

The young, the thoughtless, and the gay:
Yet, left alone to cooler thought,

He knows, he fees, he feels his fault;
He knows his fault, he feels, he views,
Detefting what he most pursues :
His judgment tells him, all his gains
For fleeting joys, are lafting pains:
Reason with appetite contending,
Repenting ftill, and still offending :
Abuser of the gifts of nature,

A wretched, felf-condemning creature,
He paffes o'er life's ill-trod stage;
And dies, in youth, the prey of age!
The fcorn, the pity of the wife,
Who love, lament him-and despise!

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FLOWER S.