SONG,

IN IMITATION OF SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

IN feildis grene,

Silver'd with hawthorne white,

To walk alone, and meditate unsene,

Is my delyte;

O'er uplande hills,

With payneful feet to straine,

And see grete shippes, whose sails the light wind

fills,

On distant mayne;

Or whenne the sun,

Climbs to his chamber high,

O'er willow banks where shallowe rivers run,

Creepe silent bye.

So pass my dayes,

From noisome cities far;

From hope and feare, from envy, blame, and praise,

And wordie war!

For it is sedde,

That nought was ever knowne

Of greate or goode to spring from harte or hedde, But when alone.

THE LINNETS.

BENEATH this spreading beech's shade,
Whose boughs exclude the fervid ray,
Where opening roses crown the glade,
And zephyrs waft their sweets away;

Secluded from the feather'd throng,

Two warbling linnets form'd their nest; 'Twas love inspir'd the morning song, And glow'd serene in either breast.

When fraught with fond maternal care,
She brooded o'er her tender race;

Then hovering in the balmy air,

He sooth'd her anxious thoughts to peace.

His was the task, the wilds to roam, To range along the furrow'd field; Then joyful seek the much lov'd home, And there the tender morsel yield.

Nor hard he deem'd his toilsome fate, Swift gliding o'er the distant plain : Love bore him up with wings elate, And smiling hope sooth'd every pain.

One morn he wing'd his hapless flight, And quick returning with his prey, A dreary void-expos'd to sight, Confess'd the plunders of the day.

I saw his breast with anguish torn,
His pinions trail'd along the ground;
Beneath the shade he lay forlorn,

And silent sadness reign'd around.

At length he strove the song to raise,
Sweet as the lark's melodious note;
And mournful as the tender lays,
Of Philomela's warbling throat.

"Ah! cruel race," I heard him cry,
"Sole tyrants of the spacious plain;
Who place in blood your savage joy,
“And slight the hapless victim's pain.

"The sweets that from refinement flow"The genuine joys kind love imparts—

“The mutual sympathetic glow

"Ne'er warm'd your cold ungenerous hearts.

"Strangers to every soft delight,

"Ye only make the weak your prey; "Else would ye not invade my right,

"Or tear my helpless young away.