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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.


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



The fly about the candle gay

Dances with thoughtless hum;

G 2

. But 64

To a Bee.

But short, alas ! his giddy play,

His pleafure proves his doom.

The child in such simplicity

About the bee-hive clings,
And, with one drop of honey, he

Receives a thousand stings.


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 fo grays 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 !


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Thou wert working late, thou busy busy Bee !

After the fall of the cistus flower,
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 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 busy busy Bee,

Thus for another to toil!
Thy master waits till thy work is done, "ro
Till the latest flowers of the ivy are gone,

And then he will seize the spoil,
And will murder thee, thou poor little Beel



The Cranes.The Strength of Virtue.


MARK how when fullen 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 feas to warmer climes



........... Against the threats Of malice..........or that power Which erring men call Chance, this hold I firm, Virtue may be affail'd, but never hurtSurpris'd by unjust force, but not inthrall’d; Yea, even that which mischief meant moft harm, Shall in the happy trial prove most glory : But evil on itself shall back recoil,'. And mix no more with goodness.


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THE NIGHTINGALE.: CLOSE in the poplar fhade 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. :)



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,


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