Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor The mother-bird is gone to sea, But goes the male? Far wiser, he Is doubtless left behind. No-soon as from ashore he saw The winged mansion move, He flew to reach it, by a law Then perching at his consort's side, The billows and the blast defied, The seaman with sincere delight Scarce less exulting in the sight For seamen much believe in signs, Hail, honour'd land! a desert where Yet parent of this loving pair And ye who, rather than resign Were not afraid to plough the brine In company For whose lean country much disdain Be it your fortune, year by year, June, 1793. ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING A YOUNG BIRD. A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you, Each trifle that he sees. But you have kill'd a tiny bird, Which flew not till to-day, Against my orders, whom you heard Forbidding you the prey. Nor did you kill that you might eat And ease a doggish pain, For him, though chased with furious heat, Nor was he of the thievish sort, I see you, after all my pains, BEAU'S REPLY. SIR, when I flew to seize the bird You cried-Forbear-but in my breast Yet, much as nature I respect, I ventured once to break (As you perhaps may recollect) And when your linnet on a day, Had flutter'd all his strength away, Well knowing him a sacred thing, I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, And lick'd the feathers smooth. Let my obedience then excuse Nor some reproof yourself refuse If killing birds be such a crime What think you, Sir, of killing time TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. DEAR architect of fine chateaux in air, O for permission from the skies to share, Much to my own, though little to thy good, With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!) A partnership of literary ware! But I am bankrupt now; and doom'd henceforth To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays; Bards, I acknowledge, of unequal'd birth! But what his commentators' happiest praise? That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes, Which they who need them use, and then despise. June 29, 1793. ANSWER To Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss Catharine Fanshawe, in returning a Poem of Mr. Cowper's, lent to her, on condition she should neither show it, nor take a Copy. To be remember'd thus is fame, And in the first degree; And did the few like her the same, So Homer, in the memory stored Was once preserved—a richer hoard, 1793. ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. THE suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse, |