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A Flood. The Fly.
The godlike face of man avails him nought.
When from the hills the torrents swift and strong Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along, Thro' ruin'd moles the rushing flood resounds, O'erwhelms the bridge, and bursts the lofty
bounds; The yellow harvests of the ripen'd year, And flutten'd vineyards, one fad waste appear; While clouds descend in sluicy sheets of rain, And all the labours of mankind are vain.
The fly about the candle gay
But short, alas ! his giddy play,
His pleafure proves his doom.
The child in such simplicity
About the bee-hive clings,
Receives a thousand stings.
TO A BEE.
Thou wert out betimes, thou busy busy Bee!
When abroad I took my early way, Before the cow from her resting-place Had risen up, and left her trace
On the meadow with dew so grays I saw thee, thou busy busy Bee !
Thou wert alive, thou busy busy Bee !
When the crowd in their sleep were dead, Thou wert abroad in the freshest hour, When the sweetest odour comes from the flower.
Man will not learn to leave his lifeless bed, And be wise and copy thee, thou busy busy Bee !
Thou wert working late, thou busy busy Bee !
After the fall of the ciftus flower, I heard thee last as I saw thee first, When the primrose tree blossom was ready to burst.
In the coolness of the ev'ning hour, I heard thee, thou busy busy Bee !
Thou art a miser, thau busy busy Bee !
Late and early at employ;
What thy age will never enjoy.
Thou art a fool, thou busy busy Bee,
Thus for another to toil !
And then he will seize the spoil,
little Bee ! ANTHOLOGY:
The Cranes.--The Strength of Virtue.
MARK how when fullen clouds appear,
From the cold region fly away,
THE STRENGTH OF VI
Against the threats Of malice..........or that power Which erring men call Chance, this hold I firm, Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurtSurpris'd by unjust force, but not inthralld; Yea, even that which mischief meant mof harm, Shall in the happy trial prove most glory : But evil on itself shall back recoil, And mix no more with goodness.
The Nightingale.-The Serpent.
Close in the poplar shade the nightingale
In fair Calabria's woods a snake is bred.
frogs. But when in muddy pools the water finks, And the chapt earth is furrow'd o'er with chinks,