WRITTEN AT THE HERMITAGE OF BRAID.

For, lo! thro' each op'ning is heard,

In concert with waters below, The voice of a musical bird,

Whose numbers do gracefully flow.

The bushes and arbours so green,
The tendrils of spray interwove,

With foliage shelter the scene,

And form a retirement for love.

Here Venus transported may rove
From pleasure to pleasure unseen,

Nor wish for the Cyprian grove

Her youthful Adonis to screen.

Oft let me contemplative dwell

On a scene where such beauties appear;

I could live in a cot or a cell,

And never think solitude near.

A TALE.

THOSE rigid pedagogues and fools,

Who walk by self-invented rules,
Do often try, with empty head,

The emptier mortals to mislead,

And fain would urge, that none but they Could rightly teach the A, B, C;

On which they've got an endless comment, To trifling minds of mighty moment, Throwing such barriers in the way

Of those who genius display,

As often, ah! too often teaze

Them out of patience, and of fees,

Before they're able to explode

Obstructions thrown on Learning's road...

May mankind all employ their tools

To banish pageantry from schools!

A TALE.

And may each pedagogue avail,
By list'ning to the after tale!

Wise Mr. Birch had long intended
The alphabet should be amended,
And taught that H a breathing was,
Ergo he saw no proper cause,
Why such a letter should exist:
Thus in a breath was he dismiss'd,
With, "O beware, beware, O youth!
"Take not the villain in your mouth."

One day this alphabetic sinner
Was eager to devour his dinner,
When to appease the craving glutton,
His boy Tom produced the mutton.
Was such disaster ever told?

Alas! the meat was deadly cold!

Here take and heat it, says the master;

Quoth Tom, that shall be done, and fast, Sir;

A TALE.

And few there are, who will dispute it;
But he went instantly about it;

For Birch had scorn'd the H to say,
And blew him with a puff away.

The bell was rung with dread alarm; "Bring me the mutton, is it warm?" Sir you desir'd, and I have eat it ; "You lie, my orders were to heat it." Quoth Tom, I'll readily allow

That H is but a breathing now..

THE

PEASANT, HEN, AND YOUNG DUCKS,

A FABLE.

A Hen, of all the dunghill crew

The fairest, stateliest to view,
Of laying tir'd, she fondly begs

Her keeper's leave to hatch her eggs.
He, dunn'd with the incessant cry,
Was forc'd for peace' sake to comply:--

And, in a month, the downy brood

Came chirping round the hen for food,
Who view'd them with parental eyes

Of pleasing fondness and surprise,

And was not at a loss to trace

Her likeness growing in their face;

Tho' the broad bills could well declare

That they another's offspring were:
So strong will prejudices blind,

And lead astray the easy mind...