Now in a small cage they're confin'd, Ye mothers, of feeling possess'd, Who protect your dear infants with care! Could you suffer them torn from your breast, And carry'd you could not tell where? Could you hear the poor innocents cry, And suffer harsh threats with delight? Speak-could you endure the hard case, To have the sweet babes of your heart Secluded each tender embrace, And kept from their mother apart? "Tis unnatural e'en to suppose, That mothers so basely were taught, To abandon their babes to such woes; Humanity weeps at the thought. O say then, fond mothers! I pray, Is not this too acute to be borne. O say then-(for you can express) Say mothers of gentlest tongue: Ah! paint the exceeding distress Of a bird that's bereft of its young. And take the advice that I give The ROBIN. An Elegiac Poem, written at the close of Autumn LET me invoke the plaintive muse, Alas!—and can ye chose but moan, Quite stript of ev'ry beauty, see How soon their vernal honours fade; The flow'rs decay, each spreading tree No more affords a grateful shade. Their naked branches now behold! Bleak winds pierce thro' with murm'ring sound, Admit the northern breezes cold; And leafy ruins strew the ground. So man, who treads life's active stage, In tender youth, or riper age, Drops thus, into his former clay. Her mantle grave, cool ev'ning spreads, The rising hills, the flow'ry meads, K The sun cuts short his joyful race, In solemn sadness shuts the scene. The Red-breast, dear domestic bird! Who now forsakes the leafless grove; In days of yore was much preferr'd, Sacred to hospitable love. He soothes me with his plaintive tale, When Sol withdraws his friendly ray; Soon as the ev'ning shades prevail, And close the short remains of day. O welcome, to my homely board! Since you, of all the warbling throng, (Who now to warmer climes retire ;) Remain to cheer me with a song, And many a pleasing thought inspire. |