At what a sailor suffers; fancy too, And dream of transports she was not to know. And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food, In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare, This history chanced of late The history of a wedded pair, A chaffinch and his mate. The spring drew near, each felt a breast They paired, and would have built a nest, The heaths uncovered, and the moors, Long time a breeding-place they sought, A ship! could such a restless thing Or was the merchant charged to bring Hush—silent hearers profit most— Proved kinder to them than the coast, But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal, Their roofless home they fixed, Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor, The mother-bird is gone to sea, But goes Is doubtless left behind? No—Soon as from ashore he saw The winged mansion move, Then perching at his consort's side, The seaman with sincere delight, For seamen much believe in signs, Hail, honoured land! a desert where Yet parent of this loving pair Whom nothing could divide. And ye who, rather than resign Your matrimonial plan Were not afraid to plough the brine For whose lean country much disdain Be it your fortune year by year, The same resource to prove, And may ye, sometimes landing here, "The tale is faunded on an article of intelligence which the author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793, in the following words. "Glasgow, May 23. "In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabet, now lying at the Bromeslaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it but when she descends to the hull for food." On a Spaniel called Beau, killing a young Bird. A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, Well fed, and at his ease, But you have killed a tiny bird, Nor did you kill that you might eat,. For him, though chased with furious heat, A mightier cried—proceed— 'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest Impelled me to the deed. Yet much as nature I respect, I ventured once to break, And when your linnet on a day, Had fluttered all his strength away, I only kissed his ruffled wing, Let my obedience then excuse Beau was Mr. Cowper's favourite Dog, and often accompanied him in his walks. Those who possess Cowper's entire works, will find Beau celebrated in the verses, The Dog and the Water Lily. The verses to Mrs. Anne Bodham, on receiving from her a net-work purse made by herself, are lively and epigrammatic, expressive of the cordiality and sportiveness with which Cowper treated the friends whom he loved. My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, I danced and fondled on my knee I, therefore, as a proof of love, The best things kept within it. THE CASTAWAY. The date of this piece is March 20, 1799. It is the last original effort of Cowper, and as such, a melancholy interest is attached to it. The Castaway is founded upon an incident recorded in Lord Anson's voyage. A sailor fell overboard, but the force of the wind and the roughness of the sea frustrated every effort which could be made to save his life, and he was drowned. Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roared, He loved them both, but both in vain, |