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Savage!-he would soon divest
Of its rosy plumes thy breast;
Then, with solitary joy,
Eat thee, bones and all, my boy.
These emmets how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies
Without our regard or concern: Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a fluggard and many a fool
A lesson of wisdom might learn.
They do n't wear their time out in sleeping or
play, But gather up corn in a sunshiny day,
And for winter they lay up their stores: They manage their work in such regular forms, One would think they foresaw all the frosts and
And so brought their food within doors.
The Approach of Winter.-The Lark.
The sun far northward bends his annual way,
The bleak north-east wind lays the forests bare ;
The fruit ungather'd quits the naked spray,
And dreary winter reigns o'er earth and air.
No mark of vegetable life is seen,
No bird to bird repeats his tuneful call;
Save the dark leaves of some rude evergreen,
Save the lone redbreast on the moss-grown wall.
See how the lark, the bird of day,
Springs from the earth, and wings his way!
To heaven's high vault his course he bends,
And sweetly fings as he ascends.
But when, contented with his height,
He shuts his wings and checks his flight,
No more he chants the lively strain,
But finks in filence to the plain.
Ever after summer shower,
When the bright sun's returning power
With laughing beam has chas'd the storm,
And cheer'd reviving nature's form;
By sweet-brier hedges, bath'd in dew,
Let me my wholesome path pursue ;
There, issuing forth, the frequent snail
Wears the dank way with slimy trail;
While, as I walk, from pearled bulh
The sunny-sparkling drop I brush,
And all the landscape fair I view
Clad in robe of fresher hue;
And so loud the blackbird fings,
That far and near the valley rings;
From shelter deep of shaggy rock
The shepherd drives his joyful flock;
From bowering beech the mower blithe
With new-born vigour grasps the scythe ;
While o'er the smooth unbounded meads
Its last faint gleam the rainbow spreads.
Epitaph on a Lap-Dop.-
I NEVER bark'd when out of season;
I never bit without a reason;
I ne'er insulted weaker brother;
Nor wrong'd by force nor fraud another:
Though brutes are placed a rank below,
Happy for man could he lay fo!
O'ER Arabia's defert sands
The patient camel walks,
'Mid lonely caves and rocky lands
The fell hyæna stalks.
On her cool and shady hills
Coffee-fhrubs and tam'rinds grow,
Headlong fall the welcome rills
Down the fruitful dells below.
The fragrant myrrh and healing balm
Perfume the passing gale ;
Thick hung with dates the spreading palm
Tow'rs o'er the peopled vale.
And often o'er the level waste
The stifling hot winds fly;
Down falls the swain with trembling haste,
The gasping cattle die.
Shepherd people on the plain
Pitch their tents and wander free,
Wealthy cities they disdain,
Poor-yet bleft with liberty.
The honest heart, whose thoughts are clear
From fraud, disguise, and guile,
Needs neither Fortune's frowning fear,
Nor court her fickle smile.
The greatness that would make us grave
Is but an empty thing;
What more than mirth would mortals have?
The cheerful man 's a king!