Let then this league betwixt us made, Our mutual interests guard, Mine be the gift of fruit and shade, ODE XVII. ΤΟ A RED-BREAST. BY DR. LANGHORNE. LITTLE bird, with bosom red, Daily near my table steal, While I pick my scanty meal; Doubt not, little though there be, But I'll cast a crumb to thee; Well rewarded, if I spy . Pleasure in thy glaring eye; Come, my feather'd friend, again! Well thou know'st the broken pane; Ask of me thy daily store, Savage! he would soon divest Of its ruddy plumes thy breast; Then with solitary joy, Eat thee, bones and all, my boy! ODE XVIII. ΤΟ A ROBIN. WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF AUTUMN. BY MR. J. GILES. O Come, thou melancholy Muse, Her mantle grave cool Evening spreads, Stern Winter brings his gloomy train, Each pleasing landscape fades from view; In solemn state he shuts the scene, To flow'ry fields we bid adieu ! Quite stript of every beauty, see How soon fair Nature's honours fade! The flow'rs are fled, each spreading tree No more affords a grateful shade. Their naked branches now, behold, Bleak winds pierce thro' with murmuring sound; Chill'd by the northern breezes cold, Their leafy honours strew the ground. So man, who treads life's active stage, Drops thus into his native clay! Alas! and can we chuse but moan, But see the tender Redbreast comes, Then soothes me with his plaintive tale, O welcome to my homely board! |