80 The Blind Boy. THE BLIND BOY: O SAY, what is that thing call'd light, You talk of wondrous things you see; My day or night myself I make And could I always keep awake With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe; Then The Robin. Then let not what I cannot have THE ROBIN. SEE, mamma, what a sweet little prize I have found! A robin that lay half benumbed on the ground! I caught him and fed him and warmed in my breast, And now he's as nimble and blithe as the rest. Look, look how he flutters!-He'll slip from my hold. Ah rogue! you've forgotten both hunger and But indeed 'tis in vain; for I sha'n't set you free, And make our dull winter as gay as the spring. 4 ་ But But stay-sure't is cruel, with wings made to soar, To be shut up in prison and never fly more― And I, who so often have longed for a flight, Shall I keep you prisoner?-Mamma—is it right? No, come, pretty robin, I must set you freeFor your whistle, though sweet, would sound sadly to me. THE KID. ORIGINAL. A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye To think yon playful kid must die; Erewhile, in sportive circles, round She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound; And on the fearful margin play. Pleased The First of April. Pleased on his various freaks to dwell, Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright, She tells with what delight he stood She tells me how with eager speed His every frolic, light as air, 11 SHENSTONE. THE FIRST OF APRIL. MINDFUL of disaster past, And shrinking at the northern blast, The 12 The First of April. The sleety storm returning still, Murmurs the blossom'd boughs around The beans their new-born ranks expand; She |