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ODE TO THE CUCKOO. JOf Above the steeple shines a plate,
That turns and turns, to indicate
*From what point blows the weather : Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove !!, Look up-your brains begin to swim, Thou messenger of spring!
'Tis in the clouds--that pleases him, Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,
He chooses it the rather. And woods thy welcome sing.. and
Fond of the speculative height, What time the daisy decks the green, Thither he wings his airy flight, Thy certain voice we hear;
And thence securely sees Hast thou a star to guide thy path," ni The bustle and the raree-show, Or mark the rolling year?
That occupy mankind below,
Secure and at his ease.
You think, no doubt, be sits and muses And hear the sound of music sweet
On future broken bones and bruises, From birds among the bowers.
If he should chance to fall.
No; not a single thought like that
Or troubles it at all.
He sees that this great round-about
The world, with all its motley rout, What time the pea puts on the bloom
Church, army, physic, law, Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
Its customs, and its businesses, An annual guest in other lands,
Is, no concern at all of his, Another spring to hail.
And says—what says he ?--Caw.
so ei. I ni YOUNG.
iu And proudly makes the strength of rocks ber own 1
Thence wide o'er nature takes her dread survey,
Her young she feasts with blood, and hov'ring o'er n es
THE KITTEN. '! * Though ne'er a Madam of them all. "
Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall, so JOANNA BAILLIE.
More varied trick and whim displays,
To catch the admiring stranger's gaze. Wanton drole, whose harinless play! Doth power in measur'ıt verses dwell, V Beguiles the rustic's closing day,
All thy vagaries wild to tell ? . x IVA When drawn the evening fire about, " Ah no! the start, the jet, the bound, Sit aged Crone and thoughtless Lout, ten | The giddy scamper round and round, And child upon his three-foot stool, With leap, and jerk, and high curvet, Waiting till his supper cool: : los! And many a whirling somerset, " ' ' And maid, wbose cheek outblooms the rose, (Permitted be the modern muse * IT As bright the blazing faggot glows,
Expression technical to use)
. Who, bending to the friendly light, , These mock the deftliest rhymester's skill, Plies ber task with busy sleight;
But poor in art, though rich in will.
The nimblest tumbler, stage bedight,
To thee is but a clumsy wight,' .' Backward, coiled, and crouching low, Who every limb and sinew strains With glaring eye-balls watch thy foe, To do what costs thee little pains, The housewife's spindle whirling round, For which, I trow, the gaping crowd Or thread, or straw, that on the ground Requites him oft with plaudits loud. Its shadow throws, by urchin sly
But, stopped awhile thy wanton play, Held out to lure thy roving eye ;
Applauses too, thy feats repay, Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring For then, beneath some urchin's hand, Upon the futile, faithless thing.
With modest pride thou takest thy stand, Now, wheeling round, with bootless skill, While many a stroke of fondness glides Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still, Along thy back and tabby sides; As oft beyond thy curving side
Dilated swells thy glossy fur, Its jetty tip is seen to glide;
And loudly sings thy busy purr; Till, from thy centre, starting far,
As, timing well the equal sound, Thou sidelong rear'st, with tail in air Thy clutching feet bepat the ground, Erected stiff, and gait awry,
And all their harmless claws disclose, Like Madam in her tantrums high;
Like prickles of an early rose :
While softly from thy whiskered cheek Thy half-closed eyes peer mild and meek.
But not alone, by cottage fire,
| Whence hast thon then? thou witless puss, The magic power to charm us thus ? Is it, that in thy glaring eye, And rapid movements, we descry, While we at ease, secure from ill, The chimney corner snugly ill, A lion, darting on his prey? A tiger, at his rathless play? Or, is it, that in thee we trace With all thy varied wanton grace, An emblem, viewed with kindred eye, Of tricksy, restless infancy? Ah! many a lightly-sportive child, Who hath, like thee, our wits beguiled, To dull and sober manhood grown, With strange recoil our hearts disown. Even so, poor Kit ! must thou endure, When thou becom'st a cat demure, Fall many a cuff and angry word, Chid roughly from the tempting board, And yet, for that thou hast, I ween, So oft our favorite playmate been, Soft be the change which thou shalt prove, When time hath spoiled thee of our love; Still be thon deemed, by housewife fat, A comely, careful, mousing cat, Whose dish is, for the public good, Replenish'd oft with savoury food. Nor, when thy span of life be past, Be thou to pond or dunghill cast; Bat gently borne on good man's spade, Beneath the decent sod be laid, And children show, with glistening eyes, The place where poor old Pussy lies.
LAMBS AT PLAY.
SAY, ye that know, ye who have felt and seen
In shades like these pursue your favourite joy,
But neighs to the shrill trumpet's dreadful
Till death, and when he groars, he groans
i his last ! SURVEY the warlike horse! didst thou in
vest With thunder his robust, distended chest ?
THE LION. No sense of fear his dauptless soul allays;
YOUNG. 'Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze: To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, FIERCE o'er the sands the lordly Lion stalks, And triumphs in the fulness of his might; Grimly majestic in his lonely walks : High-rais’d, he spuffs the battle from afar, When round he glares, all living creatures And burns to plunge amid the raging war: fly; He mocks at death, and throws his foam He clears the desert with his rolling eye, around,
By the pale moon he takes his destin'd round, And in a storm of fury shakes the ground. Lashes his sides, and furious tears the ground. How does his firm, his rising heart, advance Now shrieks and dying groans the forest fill, Full on the brandish'd sword, and shaken He rages, rends, his rav'nous jaws distil lance;
With crimson foam, and when the banquet's While his fix'd eye-balls meet the dazzling o'er, shield,
He strides away, and paints his steps with Gaze, and return the lightning of the field! gore. He sinks the sense of pain in gen'rous pride, In fight alone, the shepherd puts his trust, Nor feels the shaft that trembles in his side ;) And shudders at the talon in the dust.
While softly from thy wbiskered cheek Thy half-closed eyes peer mild and meek.
But not alone, by cottage fire,
Whence hast thoa then? thoo witless pass,
To dull and sober manhood grown,
Even so, poor Kit! must thou endure,
LAMBS AT PLAY.
SAY, ye that know, ye who have felt and geen