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THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.

NO FABLE.

THE noon was fhady, and soft airs

Swept Ouse's filent tide,
When, scap'd from literary cares,

I wander'd on his fide.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,

And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs *, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,

That spaniel found for me)

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,

Now starting into fight
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads

With scarce a lower fight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd

His lilies newly blown ;
Their beauties I intent survey'd,

And one I wish'd my own.

* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters,

With cane extended far I fought

To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught,

Escap'd my eager hand,

Bean mark'd my unsuccessful pains

With fixt consid’rate face,
And puzzling fat his puppy brains

To comprehend the case.

But with a chirrup clear and strong,

Dispersing all his dream,
I thence withdrew, and follow'd long

The windings of the stream,

My ramble finishid, I return'd.

Beau trotting far before
The floating wreath again difcernd,

And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd

Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the fight, the world, I cried,

Shall hcar of this thy deed, My dog fhall mortify the pride

Of man's superior breed;

But, chief, myself I will enjoin,

Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thine

To Him who gives me all.

ON THE RECEIPT OF

MY MOTHER'S PICTURE

OUT OF NORFOLK.

THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN ANN BODHAM.

Oh that those lips had language ! Life has passid
With me but roughly since I heard thee latt.
Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood folaced me;
Voice only fails, else, how diftinct they say,
« Grieve not, my child, chafe all thy fears away !”
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Bleft be the art that can immortalize,
The art that bastles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
Oh welcome guest, though unexpected, here !
Who bidd'ft me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother loft so long.
I will obey, not willingly alone,
But gladly, as the precept were her own;
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief

Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art the.

My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I Thed ?
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing ron,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unseen, a kiss ;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss
Ah that maternal smile! it aniwers-Yes.
I heard the bell tolld on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee now away,
And, turning from my nurs’ry window, drew
A long, long figh, and wept a last adieu !
But was it such ?—It was. - Where thou art gone
Adieus and farewells are a found unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting sound shall pass my lips no more !
Thy maidens griev'd themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of a quick return.
What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
And, disappointed stili, was still deceiv’d;
By disappointment every day beguiled,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent,
I learn'd at last submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplor'd thee; ne'er forgot.

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