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A Flood.-The Fly.

The godlike face of man avails him nought.
But if, apprised of the severe attack,

The country be shut up, lur'd by the scent,
On church-yards drear (inhuman to relate)
The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig
The shrouded body from the grave.

63

THOMSON.

A FLOOD.

WHEN from the hills the torrents swift and

strong

Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along, Thro' ruin'd moles the rushing flood resounds, O'erwhelms the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds;

The yellow harvests of the ripen'd year,

And flatten'd vineyards, one sad waste appear: While clouds descend in sluicy sheets of rain, And all the labours of mankind are vain.

THE FLY.

THE fly about the candle gay
Dances with thoughtless hum;

G 2

POPE.

But

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But short, alas! his giddy play,
His pleasure proves his doom.

The child in such simplicity
About the bee-hive clings,
And, with one drop of honey, he
Receives a thousand stings.

TO A BEE.

THOU wert out betimes, thou busy busy Bee!
When abroad I took my early way,
Before the cow from her resting-place
Had risen up, and left her trace

On the meadow with dew so gray,

I saw thee, thou busy busy Bee!

Thou wert alive, thou busy busy Bee!

When the crowd in their sleep were dead,

Thou wert abroad in the freshest hour,

When the sweetest odour comes from the flower. Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed, And be wise and copy thee, thou busy busy Bee!

Thou

To a Bee.

Thou wert working late, thou busy busy Bee!

After the fall of the cistus flower,

65

I heard thee last as I saw thee first, When the primrose-tree blossom was ready to burst.

In the coolness of the ev'ning hour, I heard thee, thou busy busy Bee!

Thou art a miser, thou busy busy Bee!
Late and early at employ ;

Still on thy golden stores intent,

Thy youth in heaping and hoarding is spent
What thy age will never enjoy.

I will not copy thee, thou miserly Bee!

Thou art a fool, thou busy busy Bee,
Thus for another to toil!

Thy master waits till thy work is done,
Till the latest flowers of the ivy are gone,
And then he will seize the spoil,

And will murder thee, thou poor little Bee!

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66

The Cranes. The Strength of Virtue.

THE CRANES.

MARK how when sullen clouds appear
And wintry storms deface the year,
The prudent cranes no longer stay,

But take the wing, and thro' the air
From the cold region fly away,

And far o'er land and seas to warmer climes

repair.

THE STRENGTH OF VIRTUE.

.....

Against the threats

Of malice ........... or that power

Which erring men call Chance, this hold I firm,
Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurt-
Surpris'd by unjust force, but not inthrall'd;
Yea, even that which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory:
But evil on itself shall back recoil,
And mix no more with goodness.

MILTON.

The Nightingale.-The Serpent. 67

THE NIGHTINGALE.

CLOSE in the poplar shade the nightingale
With piercing cries does her lost young bewail;
Which the rough hind observing as they lay
Warm in their downy nest had stol'n away:
But she in mournful sounds does still complain,
Sings all the night, tho' all her songs are vain,
And still renews her miserable strain.

LEE.

THE SERPENT.

IN fair Calabria's woods a snake is bred
With curling crest, and with advancing head,
Waving he rolls, and makes a shining track:
His belly spotted, burnish'd is his back:

While springs are gushing, while the southern air
And dropping heav'ns the moisten'd earth repair,
He lives on standing lakes or trembling bogs;
And fills his maw with fish, or with loquacious
frogs.

But when in muddy pools the water sinks,
And the chapt earth is furrow'd o'er with chinks,

He

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