Слике страница

Thou, perch'd on high, shall hear th’adoring

throng, Catch the warm strains, and aid the sacred song, Increase the solemn chorus, and inspire Each tongue with music, and each heart with



[ocr errors]

The following pretty Lines to the REDBREAST

are from the chaste pen of the Rev. RICHARD HENNAH, of Plymouth.

SEVERELY blew the northern blast,

The snow o'erspread the plain; Mute was the grove, and Nature sunk

In Winter's icy chain.

When at my door the Redbreast came,

In melancholy mood,
Beneath my root, from Pity's hand,
To implore a little food.


Press’d both by hunger and the cold,

He greatly wish'd to stay ; But fear within his throbbing breast,

Oft whisperid, Fly away!

Mankind, he knew, too seldom leng

To woe a friendly ear! Grimalkin too, a deadly foe!

Perhaps was watching near.

But didst thou, little songster, know

How much I feel for thee, Thoud'st leave awhile the leafless wood,

And winter here with me.

For here thou may'st in safety sit,

And plume thy dripping wing; Or, while the tempests rage without,

Attune thy voice and sing:

Then fearless come! thy cheerful notes

Have often charm’d my ear;
For this, protection shalt thou find !

For this, thou'rt welcome here !

The crumbs which from my table fall,

Thy daily food shall be;
The fire which blazes on the hearth,


and me.

Shall warm

And in return, when warmer suns

Recal thee to the plain,
To taste both love and liberty,

With all thy tribes again,

I ask thee, now and then, to come,

At dawn, or setting day,
And charm, with thy accustom'd notes,

My gloomy cares away.

Wrilten on seeing a Robin in severe Weather.


Sweet Bird ! who cheer'st the heavy hours

Of Winter's dreary reign;
Oh ! still exert thy tuneful powers,

And pour the vocal strain, .

Whilst I with gratitude prepare

The food thy wants demand; Go not to seek a scanty fare

From Nature's frozen hand.

Domestic bird, near me remain,

Until the verdant spring
Again shall bid the woodland train

Their grateful tribute bring.

Sweet Robin, then thou may'st explore,

And join the feather'd throng; And every vocal bush shall pour

The energy of song.

[ocr errors]

May’st thou enjoy the silver scene

Till all its charms are o'er, And Winter's melancholy reign

My pensioner restore.


LITTLE Bird, with bosom red,
Welcome to my humble shed;
Courtly dames of high degree
Have no room for thee and me.
Pride and Pleasure's fickle throng
Nothing mind an idle song.
Daily near my table steal,
While I pick my scanty meal ;
Doubt not, little tho'.there be,
But I'll cast a cruin6 to thee.
Well rewarded, if I spy
Pleasure in thy glancing eye;
See thee when thou'st eat thy fill,
Plume thy breast and wipe thy bill.
Come, my feather'd friend, again!
Well thou know'st the broken pane;
Ask of me thy daily store,
Go not near. Avaro's door:
Once within his iron hall,
Woeful end shall thee befal.
Savage! he would soon divest
Of its rosy plumes thy breast.

« ПретходнаНастави »