SECTION IV.

The Lamb and the Pig; or nature and èdūcă'tion.*

1. CONSULT the moralist, you'll find
That educa'tion* forms the mind.
But education ne'er supplied
What ruling na'ture has denied.
If you'll the following page pursue,
My tale shall prove this doc'trine true.
2. Since to the muse all brutes belong,
The lamb shall usher in my song;
Whose snowy fleece ǎdôrn'd her skin,
Emblem of native white within.
Meekness and love põşşess'd her soul,
And innocence had crown'd the whole.
3. It chănc'd upon a luckless day,
The little wân'tón, full of play,
Rejoic'd a thy'my bank to gain;
But short the triumphs of her reign!
The treacherous slopes her fate foretell,
And soon the pretty trifler fell.

4. Beneath, a dirty ditch impress'd
Its mire upon her spotless vest.
What greater ill could lamb betide,
'The butcher's barb'rous knife beside?
5. The shěp'hérd, wounded with her cries,
Straight to the bleating sufferer flies.
The lambkin in his arms he took,
And bore her to a neighb'ring brook.
The silver streams her wool refin'd;
Her fleece in virgin whiteness shin'd.
6. Cleans'd from pollution's ev'ry stain,
She join'd her fellows on the plain;
And saw ǎfar the noisome shore,
But ne'er approach'd those dangers more.
The shepherd bless'd the kind event,
And view'd his flock with sweet content.

The children round their parent crowd.
And testify their mirth* ǎloud.
8. They saw the stranger with surprise,
And all admir'd his little eyes.
Familiar grown he shar'd their joys;
Shar'd too the porridge with the boys.
The females o'er his dress pre-sīde';
They wash his face, and scour his hide.
But daily more a swine he grew,
For all these houşe'wivest e'ert could do.

SECTION V.

COTTON.

The Bee and the Ant; or, the advantages of application and diligence in early years.

1. On a bright dewy summer's morn,
A Bee rang'd o'er the věr'dant lawn;
Studious to huş'bánd every hour,
And make the most of every flower.
2. Nimble from stalk to stalk she flies,
And loads with yellow wax her thighs;
With which the artist builds her comb,
And keeps all tight and wârm at home:
Or from the cowslip's golden bells
Sucks honey to enrich her cells;
Or every tempting rose pursues,
Or sips the lily's fra'grant dews;
Yet never robs the shi'ning bloom, ·
Or of its beauty, or pĕr-fume'.||
Thus she discharg'd in every way,
The various duties of the day.
3. It chănc'd a frugal Ănt was near,
Whose brow was furrow'd o'er by care:
A great economist was she,

Nor less laborious than the Bee:
By pensive parents often taught,
What ills ǎrişe from want of thought;
That poverty on sloth depends,
On poverty the loss of friends.

4. Hence every day the Ant is found

With anxious steps to tread the ground;
With curious search to trace the grain,
And drag the heavy load with pain.

"

or perfume.

5. The active Bee. with pleasure saw
The Ant fulfil her parents' law.
Ah! sister labourer, says she,
How very fortunate* are we !
Who, taught in infancy to know
The comforts which from labour flow,
Are independent of the great,

Nor know the wants of pride and state.
6. Why is our food so very sweet?
Because we earn before we eat.
Why are our wants so very few?
Because we na'ture's calls pursue.
Whence our complacency of mind?
Because we act our parts assign'd.
7. Have we incessant tasks to do?
Is not all naturef busy too?

Does not the sun with constant pace
Persist to run his annual race?

Do not the stars, which shine so bright,
Renew their courses every night?
Does not the ox oběd'ient bow
His patient neck, and draw the plough?
Or when did e'er the gen'rous steed
Withhold his labour, or his speed?

SECTION VI.

The Doves.

1. REAS'NING at ev'ry step he treads,

Man yet mistakes his way,

While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.

2. One silent eve I wânder'd late,

And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus address'd her mate,
And sooth'd the list'ning dove:

3. "Our mutual bond of faith and truth,.
No time shall disengage;
Those blessings of our early youth
Shall cheer our latest age.

4. While innocence without disguişe',||
And constancy sincere,

COTTO

Shall fill the cir'cles* of those eyes,
And mine can read them there;
5. Those ills that wait on all below
Shall ne'ert be felt by me,
Or, gently felt, and only so,
As being shar'd with thee.

6. When lightnings flash ămóng the trees,
Or kites àre hov'ring near,

I fear lest thee ălōne they seize,
And know no other fear.

7. ""Tis then I feel my-self' a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Resolv'd a union form'd for life
Death never shall di-vide.

8. "But, oh! if, fickle and un-chaste,
(Forgive a transient thought,)
T'hou couldst become unkind at låst,
And scorn thy present lot:

9"No need of lightnings from on high,

Or kites with cruel beak;

Denied th' endearments of thine eye,

This widow'd heàrt would break."

10. Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird, Soft as the pass'ing wind;

And I recorded what I heard,—

A lesson for mankind.

SECTION VII.

The Goldfinches.

1. ALL in a garden, on a currant bûsh,

Two Goldfinches had built their airy seat;
In the next ôr'chárd liv'd a friendly thrush,
Nor distant far, a woodlark's soft retreat.
2. Here, blest with ease, and in each other blest,

COW PER.

With early songs they wak'd the neighb'ring groves; Till time matur'd their joy, and crown'd their nest With infant pledges of their faithful loves.

3. And now, what transport glow'd in either's eye!
What equal fondness dealt th' allotted food!
What joy each other's likeness to descry,
And future sonnets in the chir'pingt brood!

*ser'kls.

† näre.

tsher'ping.

4. But ah! what earthly happiness can last? How does the fairest purpose often fail! A truant school-boy's wan'tónness could blast Their flattering hopes, and leave them both to wa 5. The most ungentle of his tribe was he;

No gen'rous precept ever touch'd his heart: With concord false and hid'e-ous prosody,

He scrawl'd his task, and blunder'd o'er his part. 6. On mischief bent, he mark'd with rav'nous cyes. Where, wrapt in down, the callow songsters lay; Then rushing, rudely seiz'd the glitt'ring prizé, And bore it in his impious hands away!.

7. But how shall I describe, in numbers rude,

The pangs for poor Chrys-om'i-tris decreed, When from her secret stand, aghast', she view'd The cruel spoiler perpetrate the deed?

8. "O grief of griefs!" with shrieking voice she cried,
"What sight is this that I have liv'd to see!
O! that I had in youth's fair season died,
From all false joys, and bitter sorrows free.
9. Was it for this, alas! with weary bill,

Was it for this I pois'd th' unwieldy straw?
For this I bore the moss from yonder hill,

Nor shunn'd the pond'rous stick ǎlong' to draw!
10. Was it for this I pick'd the wool with care,
Intent with nicer skill our work to crown?
For this, with pain, I bent the stubborn hair,
And lin'd our cradle with the thistle's down?

11. Was it for this my freedom I re-şīgn'd,

And ceas'd to rove at large from plain to plain; For this I sat at home whole days confin'd,

To bear the scorching heat, and pealing rain? 12. Was it for this my watch'ful eyes grew dim? For this the roses on my cheek turn pale? Pale is my golden plumage, once so trim, And all my wonted mirth* and spirits fail!" 13. Thus sung the mournful bird her piteous tale ;— The piteous tale her mournful mate return'd: