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Beautiful Description of a Robin, who, urged

by the inclemency of the Season to forsake the Fields, endeavours to ingratiate himself with Man.

The Redbreast, sacred to the househould

Gods, Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, In joyless fields, and thorny thickets, leaves His shivering mates, and pays to trusted Man His annual visit. Half afraid, he first Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the

floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance, And pecks, and starts, and wonders where

he is : Till more familiar grown, the table crumbs Attract his slender feet,

Thomson's Seasons,

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Away, pretty Robin, fly home to your nest,
To make you my captive would please me the best,

And feed you with worms and with bread; Your eyes are so sparkling, your feathers so soft, Your little wings flutter so pretty aloft,

And your breast is all colour'd with red.

But then 'would be cruel to keep you, I know, So stretch out your wings, little Robin, and go,

Fly home to your young ones again; Go, listen again to the notes of your mate, And enjoy the green shade in your lonely retreat,

Secure from the wind and the rain.

But when the leaves fall, and the winter winds

blow, And the green fields are cover'd all over with snow,

And the clouds in white feathers descend; Vhen the springs are all ice, and the rivulets

freeze, ind the long shining icicles drop from the trees,

Then, Robin, remember your friend.

If with cold and with hunger quite perish'd and

weak, Come tap at my window again with your beak,

And gladly I'll let you come in ; You shall fly to my bosom, or perch on my

thumbs, Or hop round the table and pick up the crumbs, And never be hungry again.

Original Poems--Darton and Harvey.

The RedBREAST'S PETITION.

The Thrush sings nobly on the tree,
In strength of voice excelling me,

Whilst leaves and fruit are op.
Think how poor Robin sings for you,
When Nature's beauties bid adieu,

And leaves and fruits are gone.
Ah, then to me some crumbs of bread pray fling!
And through the year my grateful thanks I'll

sing.

When Winter's winds blow loud and rude,
And birds retire in sullen mood,

And snows make white the ground;
I sing, your drooping hearts to charm,
And sure that you'll not do me harm,

I hop your window round. Ah, then to me some crumbs of bread pray fling! And through the year my grateful thanks I'll

sing.

Since, friends, in you I put my trust,
As you enjoy, you should be just,

And for your music pay ;
And when I find a trav’ller dead,
My bill with leaves the corpse shall spread,

And sing his passing lay.
Ah, then to me some crumbs of bread pray fling!
And through the year my grateful thanks I'll
sing.

Original Poems Darton and Harvey.

DELIA'S ADDRESS to the ROBIN.

Sweet Redbreast! from thy liquid throat

Still warbling forth thy plaintive lay, With pleasing rapture swell the note,

And charm thy mistress all the day.

If thou with her will deign to dwell,

And kindly cheer her lonely hours; She'll daily tend thy little cell,

And deck it with the fairest flow'rs.

Pure water from the chrystal spring,

She, ever mindful of thy good, With constant care will ever bring,

And cull for thee the choicest food.

Sweet social bird ! here in my sight,

With grateful joy, 'contented rest, Nor seek to wing thy vent'rous flight,

Where cold and rain and storms molest.

In Delia's safe asylum bred,

Say, can'st ihou bear stern Winter's blast? By Delia's lavish bounty fed,

Say, can’st thou keep his hoary fast?

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