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The fairest of the fold he bears away,

And to his nest compels the struggling prey.
With lovelier pomp, along the grassy plain,
The silver pheasant draws his shining train :
Once, on the woody banks of Ganges' stream,
He spead his plumage to the sun's warm beam.
But now, the wiry net his flight confines,
He lowers his purple crest, and inly pines.
To claim the verse, unnumber'd tribes appear,
That swell the music of the changing year.
Seiz'd with the spirit of the kindly spring,
They tune the song, and sleek the glossy wing.
With emulative strife the notes prolong,
And out all their little souls in song.

pour

When winter bites upon the naked plain,
Nor food, nor shelter, in the groves remain,
By instinct led, a firm united band,
As marshall'd by some skilful general's hand,
The congregated nations wing their way,
In dusky columns o'er the trackless sea;
In clouds unnumber'd, annual hover o'er
The craggy Bass, or Kilda's utmost shore;
Thence spread their sails to meet the southern wind,
And leave the gathering tempest far behind;
Pursue the circling sun's indulgent ray,

Course the swift seasons, and o'ertake the day.

INSECTS.

Mrs. Barbauld.

OBSERVE the insect race, ordain'd to keep
The lazy sabbath of a half year's sleep;
Entomb'd beneath the filmy web they lie,
And wait the influence of a kinder sky.
When vernal sun-beams pierce their dark retreat,
The heaving tomb distends with vital heat;
The full-form'd brood, impatient of their cell,
Start from their trance, and burst their silken shell;
Trembling awhile they stand, and scarcely dare,
To launch, at once, upon the untry'd air.

At length assur'd, they catch the favouring gale,
And leave their sordid spoils, and high in ether

sail.

Lo! the bright train their radiant wings unfold,
With silver fring'd, and speckled o'er with gold:
On the gay bosom, of some fragrant flower,
They idly flutt'ring, live their little hour;
Their life all pleasure, and their task all play,
All spring their age, and sunshine all their day.
Not so the child of sorrow,
wretched man,

His course with toil concludes, with pain began ;
That his high destiny he might discern,
And in misfortune's school, this lesson learn;
Pleasure's the portion of the inferior kind,
But glory, virtue, Heaven for man design'd.
What atom forms of insect life appear,
And who can follow nature's pencil here ?
Their wings with azure, green, and purple gloss'd,
Studded with colour'd eyes, and gems emboss'd;*

Inlaid with pearl, and mark'd with various stains,
Of lively crimson, through their dusky veins.
Some shoot like living stars athwart the night,
And scatter from their wings a vivid light,
See the proud giant of the beetle race,
What shining arms his polish'd limbs enchase!
Like some stern warrior, formidably bright,.
His steely sides reflect a gleaming light.
On his large forehead, spreading horns he wears,
And high in air, the branching antlers bears;
O'er many an inch, extends his wide domain,
And his rich treasury swells with hoarded grain.

NATURE.

WHO can behold thy wildly varying forms,
Thy gentler beauties, and thy lovely hues,
Or walk sublime, amid thy mountain storms,
O Nature, and his grateful praise refuse?

Fair transcript of the vast eternal mind,

With awe, and love, and ever new delight; Viewing thy charms, I bless the charms that bind My soul to thee; ne'er may they disunite.

For all the works of God combine in thee,
Vast aggregate of his eternal will:
To him a point, to man immensity;
Cheer'd by that sentiment, I fear no ill.

'Tis confidence in an unchanging good;
"Tis resignation to Almighty power;
'Tis human reason floating on the flood

Of wisdom infinite, through life's short hour. When thus, O Nature, thus we learn to prize Thy simple charms, the harbingers of truth; Then shall celestial virtues round us rise,

Fairer than all the blooms of vernal youth. Through thee, O Nature! will we raise our love, To thy eternal, heavenly King above.

HOME.

How sweet the change from gay delight,
To calm domestic joy!

From scenes that shortly charm the sight,
To those which never cloy.

So shines the sun's meridian ray
On pleasure's rapid stream;
But dearer on the peaceful day
Descends his parting beam.

Tho' rapturous joy may spring awhile
From fashion's sparkling bowl;
Yet home excites the heartfelt smile,
Or soothes the pensive sigh.

Home, only home, to gentle minds,
Enduring bliss imparts;

Love's roseate chain, there, only winds
Around congenial hearts.

Say, whether, in life's vernal hours,
Far distant shall we roam

In search of quickly fading flowers,
While better bloom at home.

Or still our native hearth beside,.
Thro' many a tranquil day;
Contented view time's waveless tide
Flow, fraught with bliss away?

THE HAPPY MAN.

Thomson.

HE's not the happy man to whom is given
A plenteous fortune by indulgent heaven;
Whose gilded roofs on shining columns rise,
And painted walls enchant the gazer's eyes;
Whose table groans with hospitable cheer,
And all the various bounties of the year;
Whose valleys smile, whose gardens breathe the
spring,

Whose grassy mountains bleat, and forests sing;
From whose wide fields, unbounded autumn pours
A golden tide into his swelling stores.

Whose winter laughs; for whom the lib'ral gales
Stretch the big sheet, and toiling commerce sails ;
Whom flatt'ring crowds attend, and pleasure serves,
While youth and health, and vigour string his nerves;
Ev'n not all these in one rich lot combin'd
Can make the happy man, without the mind.

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