On barb'rous plunder bent, with favage eye He mark'd where wrapt in down the younglins lay, Then rushing feiz'd the wretched family, And bore them in his impious hands away. But how fhall I relate in numbers rude The pangs for poor * Chryfomitris decreed! When from a neighb'ring spray aghast she view'd The favage ruffian's inaufpicious deed! So wrapt in grief fome heart-ftruck matron ftands, While horrid flames furround her children's room! On heav'n fhe calls, and wrings her trembling hands, Constrain'd to fee, but not prevent their doom. "O grief of griefs! with fhrieking voice she cry'd, "What fight is this that I have liv'd to fee? "O! that I had a maiden-goldfinch died, દ From love's falfe joys, and bitter forrows free! "Was it for this, alas! with weary bill, "Was it for this, I pois'd th' unwieldy straw? "For this I pick'd the moss from yonder hill? "Nor fhun'd the pond'rous chat along to draw? Chryfomitris, it feems, is the name for a goldfinch. "Was "Was it for this, I cull'd the wool with care; "And ftrove with all my skill our work to crown? "For this, with pain I bent the ftubborn hair; "And lin'd our cradle with the thiftle's down? "Was it for this my freedom I refign'd; "And ceas'd to rove from beauteous plain to plain? "For this I fate at home whole days confin'd, "And bore the fcorching heat, and pealing rain? "Was it for this, my watchful eyes grow dim? "O plund❜rer vile! O more than weezel fell! "More treach❜rous than the cat with prudish face ! "More fierce than kites with whom the furies dwell! "More pilf'ring than the cuckow's prowling race! "For thee may plumb or goofb'ry never grow, Thus Thus fang the mournful bird her piteous tale, •}X{*}X{*}:X:<*}:X<*>X{*}X{*}X° The BLACKBIRDS. An Elegy. TH By the Same. HE fun had chas'd the mountain fnow, The melting streams began to flow, 'Twas then, amid the vocal throng Whom nature wakes to mirth and love, O fairest of the feather'd train! For whom I fing, for whom I burn, And grant my love a kind return. For For fee the wintry ftorms are flown, Let us the vernal pastime share. The raven plumes his jetty wing But trust me, love, the raven's wing As I, who ftrength with fweetness join. O! let me all thy fteps attend! I'll point new treasures to thy fight; Whether the grove thy wifh befriend, Or hedge-rows green, or meadows bright. 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, When prompted by a mother's care, The pleafing task I'll gladly share, Or cheer her labours with my fong. To bring her food I'll range the fields, And when my lovely mate would stray I'll wait at home the live-long day, And tend with care our little charge. Then prove with me the fweets of love, With me divide the cares of life; No bufh fhall boaft in all the grove So fond a mate, so blest a wife. |