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Where some sweet relief she may find. To feed and to tend on her young. London Published by WDarton Fun:58Hothorn U. July 131816.

Now in a small cage they're confin'd,
And out of the casement are hung;
Where some sweet relief she
may find,
To feed and to tend on her young.

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 see them borne off from your sight;
And would you not follow, nay fly,

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,
Supposing the case were your own,
That your infants were taken away,

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
(Prevention's as good as a cure)
Should your sweet tender innocents live,
Instruct them a moral as pure.

The ROBIN.

An Elegiac Poem, written at the close of Autumn

LET me invoke the plaintive muse,
With solemn dirge to aid my strain;
Ye shades descend, and weeping dews,
While grief involves the rural plain.

Alas!—and can ye chose but moan,
To see all nature's charms expire?
Fair blooming Spring, gay Summer gone,
And Autumn hasť'ning to retire ?

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,
Like leaf, or blossom, fades away;

In tender youth, or riper age,

Drops thus, into his former clay.

Her mantle grave, cool ev'ning spreads,
Now soon obscures each pleasing view;

The rising hills, the flow'ry meads,
Each prospect fair, we bid adieu.

K

The sun cuts short his joyful race,
Stern Winter brings his gloomy train;
And nature's languid, dying face,

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!
For thee I'll ope a libʼral hand;
Were it with choicest dainties stor'd,
There unmolested thou shouldst stand.

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.

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