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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 fhut 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.

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THOMSON.

A FLOOD.

WHEN from the hills the torrents fwift and ftrong
Deluge whole fields, and fweep the trees along,
Thro' ruin'd moles the rushing flood refounds,
O'erwhelms the bridge, and bursts the lofty
bounds:
s;

The yellow harvests of the ripen'd year,
And flatten'd vineyards, one fad wafte appear:
While clouds descend in fluicy sheets of rain,
And all the labours of mankind are vain.

THE FLY.

THE fly about the candle gay
Dances with thoughtless hum;

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POPE,

But

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But fhort, alas! his giddy play,
His pleafure proves his doom.

The child in fuch fimplicity

About the bee-hive clings,

And, with one drop of honey, he
Receives a thousand ftings.

ТО А ВЕЕ.

THOU wert out betimes, thou busy busy Bee!
When abroad I took my early way,

Before the cow from her refting-place
Had rifen up, and left her trace

On the meadow with dew fo gray,

I faw thee, thou bufy bufy Bee!

Thou wert alive, thou bufy bufy Bee!

When the crowd in their fleep were dead,

Thou wert abroad in the fresheft hour,

When the sweetest odour comes from the flower.

Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed,

And be wife and copy thee, thou busy busy Bee!

Thou

To a Bee.

Thou wert working late, thou busy busy Bee!
After the fall of the ciftus flower,

I heard thee laft as I faw thee firft,

65

When the primrose tree bloffom was ready to burst. In the coolnefs of the ev'ning hour,

I heard thee, thou busy busy Bee!

Thou art a miser, thou bufy 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 bufy bufy Bee,
Thus for another to toil!

Thy mafler waits till thy work is done,
Till the latest flowers of the ivy are gone,

And then he will feize the spoil,

And will murder thee, thou

poor

little Beel

ANTHOLOGY.

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66

The Cranes.-The Strength of Virtue.

THE CRANES.

MARK how when fullen clouds appear,
And wintry ftorms 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 feas to warmer slimes 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 affail'd, but never hurt-
Surpris'd by unjuft force, but not inthrall'd;
Yea, even that which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove moft glory:
But evil on itself fhall back recoil,

And mix no more with goodness.

MILTON.

The Nightingale.-The Serpent.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

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CLOSE in the poplar fhade the nightingale
With piercing cries does her loft young bewail;
Which the rough hind obferving as they lay
Warm in their downy neft had ftol'n away:
But fhe in mournful founds does ftill complain,"
Sings all the night, tho' all her songs are vain,
And still renews her miferable strain.

LEE

THE SERPENT.

IN fair Calabria's woods a fsnake is bred.
With curling creft, and with advancing head,
Waving he rolls, and makes a fhining track;
His belly fpotted, 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 finks,

And the chapt earth is furrow'd o'er with chinks,

He

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