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Nay, thy companion, too, fhall comfort know,
Who shiv'ring shakes away the icy fleece.

And lo! he lays him by the fire, elate;

Now on his mafter turns his gladden'd eyes;
Leaps up to greet him on their change of fate,
Licks his lov'd hand, and then beneath him lies.
A hut is mine, amidst a fhelt'ring grove:

A Hermit there, exalt to Heav'n thy praife;
There fhall the village children fhow their love,
And hear from thee the tales of other days.
There fhall our feather'd friend, the bird of morn,
Charm thee with orifons to op'ning day;
And there the red-breast, on the leafless thorn,
At eve shall footh thee with a fimple lay.

When Fate fhall call thee from a world of woe,
Thy friends around fhall watch thy clofing eyes;
With tears, behold thy gentle spirit go,
And wish to join its paffage to the skies.

The YOUNG FLY and OLD SPIDER.

BY THE SAME.

RESH was the breath of morn- -the bufy breeze,

FRA's Poets tell us, whisper'd through the trees,

And swept the dew-clad blooms with wing fo light: Phoebus got up, and made a blazing fire, That gilded every country house and fpire, And, fmiling, put on his best looks so bright. On this fair morn, a SPIDER who had fet, To catch a breakfast, his old waving net, With curious art, upon a fpangled thorn; At length, with gravely-fquinting, longing eye, Near him efpy'd a pretty, plump, young fly, Humming her little orifons to morn.

Good morrow, dear Mifs Fly," quoth gallant Grim---"Good morrow, Sir," reply'd Mifs Fly to him

"Walk in, Mifs, pray, and fee what I'm about."

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"I'm much obliged t'ye, Sir," Mifs Fly rejoin'd, My eyes are both fo very good, I find,

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"That I can plainly fee the whole, without." "Fine weather, Mifs"-" Yes, very, very fine," Quoth Mifs- -"prodigious fine indeed :" "But why fo coy ?" quoth Grim, "that you decline "To put within my bow'r your pretty head ?" ""Tis fimply this,"

Quoth cautious Mifs,

"I fear you'd like my pretty head fo well,
"You'd keep it for yourself, Sir,-who can tell ?"
"Then let me squeeze your lovely hand, my dear,
"And prove that all your dread is foolish, vain."
"I've a fore finger, Sir, nay more, I fear,
"You really would not let it go again.”

"Poh, poh, child, pray difmifs your
idle dread;
"I would not hurt a hair of that fweet head-
"Well, then, with one kind kiss of friendship meet
me;"

"La, Sir," quoth Mifs, with feeming artless tongue, "I fear our falutation would be long;

"So loving, too, I fear that you would eat me."

So faying, with a fmile fhe left the rogue,

To weave more lines of death, and plan for prog.

Co

TO THE MEMORY OF

DR. STONEHOUSE'S LADY.

BY MISS MORE.

OME, Refignation! wipe the human tear,
Domestic anguifh drops o'er virtue's bier;

Bid felfish forrow hufh the fond complaint,

Nor from the God fhe lov'd detain the faint.

Truth, meeknefs, patience, honour'd fhade! were thine, And holy hope, and charity divine:

Though thefe thy forfeit being could not fave,

Thy faith fubdu'd the terrors of the grave.

Oh! if thy living excellence could teach,
Death has a loftier emphasis of speech:
In death thy laft, best lesson still impart,
And write, prepare to die! on ev'ry heart.

A PRAYER on the PROSPECT of DEATH.

BY BURNS.

THOU unknown Almighty Caufe
Of all my hope and fear!

In whofe dread prefence, ere an hour
Perhaps, I must appear!

If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to fhun,

As fomething loudly in my breast
Remonftrates I have done;

Thou know'ft that Thou haft formed me
With paffions wild and ftrong;
And lift'ning to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty ftepp'd afide,

Do Thou, all good! for fuch Thou art,
In fhades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,

But Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

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Ο

PEACE AND HOME.

ANONYMOUS.

H! tarry, gentle traveller;
Oh! tarry now at fetting day;
Nor hafte to leave this lowly vale
For lofty mountains far away.

Oh! tell me what has tempted thee

Through woods and dreary wilds to roam ;
Oh! tell me what has tempted thee
To quit thy lot and peaceful home.›

Say, haft thou not a partner dear,
Who's conftant to thy love, and kind ?
And wilt thou leave her faithful fide,
Nor caft one forr'wing look behind.?

Yon fun that gilds the village fpire,
And gayly fheds his parting ray,
Say fmiles he not as sweetly o'er
Thy native village far away?

Does mad ambition lure thy fteps
To wander in the paths of ftrife?
Ah! think how fwift thy minutes fly!
Ah! think how fhort thy fpan of life!'

For life is like yon crimson beam

That trembles in the western skies;

Full foon, alas! its glories cease;
It fparkles, glimmers, fades, and dies.
O waste not then thy fleeting hours
In foreign climes and paths unknown;
Return thee to thy happy plains

That bounteous nature made thy own.
For me, nor gold nor princely pow'r,
Nor purple veft, nor ftately dome,
Nor all that trophy'd grandeur boasts,
Shall lure me from my tranquil home.
This ruftic cot and filent fhade

Shall evermore my dwelling be; E'en when my deftin'd days are spent I'll reft beneath yon aged tree.

Befide the brook, a simple stone

Shall ferve to guard my cold remains,
And tell the pilgrims, as they pafs,
I dy'd amidst my native plains.

Return then, gentle traveller;
Return thee with the morning ray;

Nor leave again thy lowly vale
For lofty mountains far away.

SUCH THINGS WERE.

BY J. RANNIE.

SCENough fally I your charms furveys

CENES of my youth! ye once were dear,
Ι

I once was wont to linger here,

From early dawn to clofing day. Scenes of my youth! pale forrow flings A fhade o'er all your beauties now; And robs the moments of their wings, That scatter pleasure as they flow; While ftill to heighten ev'ry care, Reflection tells me-fuch things were.

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