That fage they feem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at laft they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths,

Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; When thus a mutton, ftatelier than the reft, A ram, the ewes and wethers, fad, address'd. Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard Sounds fuch as these, fo worthy to be fear'd. Could I believe, that winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at laft a vent, And from their prifon-house below arife, With all these hideous howlings to the fkies, I could be much compos'd, nor fhould appear For fuch a caufe to feel the flightest fear. Yourfelves have feen, what time the thunders roll'd All night, me refting quiet in the fold. Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, I could expound the melancholy tone; Should deem it by our old companion made, The afs; for he, we know, has lately ftray'd, And being loft, perhaps, and wand'ring wide, Might be fuppos'd to clamour for a guide. But ah! thofe dreadful yells what foul can hear, That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear?

Dæmons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd
And fang'd with brass the dæmons are abroad;
I hold it, therefore, wisest and most fit,

That, life to fave, we leap into the pit.

Him anfwer'd then his loving mate and true,
But more difcreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
How? leap into the pit our life to save?
To fave our life leap all into the grave?
For can we find it lefs? Contemplate first
The depth how awful! falling there, we burst;
Or fhould the brambles, interpos'd, our fall
In part abate, that happiness were small;
For with a race like theirs no chance I fee
Of peace or eafe to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whofe it may,

And rush thofe other founds; that feem-by tongues
Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs,
Sounds are but founds, and till he cause appear,
We have at leaft commodious ftanding here;
Come, fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last.
While thus fhe fpake, I fainter heard the peals,
For Reynard, close attended at his heels,

By panting dog, tir'd man, and fpatter'd horfe,
Through inere good fortune, took a diff'rent course.
The flock grew calin again, and I, the road
Following that led me to my own abode,
Much wonder'd that the filly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty found,

So fweet to huntfman, gentleman, and hound.

M OR A L.

Beware of defp'rate fteps. The darkest day (Live till to-morrow) will have pafs'd away.

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY

ΝΟ FABLE.

THE noon was fhady, and soft airs

Swept Oufe's filent tide,

When, fcap'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 loft in flags and reeds,

Now ftarting into fight

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a flower flight.

It was the time when Oufe difplay'd
His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent furvey'd,
And one I wish'd my own.

With cane extended far I fought
To fteer it close to land;

But ftill the prize, tho' nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains

With fixt confid'rate face,

And puzzling fat his puppy brains

To comprehend the cafe.

VOL. II.

Sir Robert Gunning's daughters,
Y

But with a chirrup clear and ftrong,

Difperfing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and follow'd long
The windings of the fiream.

My ramble finish'd, I return'd.
Beau trotting far before

The floating wreath again difcern'd,
And plunging left the fhore.

I faw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient fwim to meet.

My quick approach, and foon he dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the fight, the world, I cried,
Shall hear of this thy deed,

My dog fhall mortify the pride
Of man's fuperior breed;

But, chief, myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To fhow a love as prompt as thine

To Him who gives me all.