Hark! catch you not their warbling wild,
That foftly flow the leaves among?
Now loudly fhrill, now fweetly mild,
The defcant of their thrilling fong.
The earliest primrose of the year,
Beneath delights in flowers to spread;
The cluft'ring hare-bell lingers near
The cowflip's dew-befpangled bed.
And whilft the western gales allay
The keenness of the noon-tide heat,
They tell where pleas'd to fhun the day,
The vi'let fcents her low retreat.
If tempted by the twilight shade
Beneath the fmooth-leaf'd beach to stray. Soon will the charms that drefs the glade Bring fweet oblivion of your way.
But, heedlefs wand'rer, come not here,
This feaft was not prepar'd for thee;
Unless thy heart feels nought more dear
Than nature and fimplicity.
"PITY the forrows of a poor old man,
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span,
Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store.
Thofe tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak,
Those hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years;
And ev'ry furrow, in my grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears!
Yon houfe, erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting aspect drew me from
my road
For plenty there a refidence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode !
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
There as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A painper'd menial drove me from the door,
To feek a fhelter in a humbler fhed.
Oh! take me to your hofpitable dome :
Keen blows the wind, and pierceing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and miferably old.
Shou'd I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands wou'd not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity wou'd not be represt.
Heav'n fends misfortunes: why fhou'd we repine?
'Tis heaven has brought me to this ftate you fee,
And your condition may be foon like mine,
The child of forrow and of mifery!
A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then like the lark, I fprightly hail'd the morn!
But, ah! oppreffion drove me from my cot,
My cattle di'd, and blighted was my corn!
My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home;
Is caft abondon'd on the world's wide ftage,
And doom'd in fcanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife, fweet foother of my care,
Struck with fad anguifh at the ftern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair!
And left the world to wretchednefs and me.
Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your
Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span, Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store.”
SIR dazzle's coach, in gaudy state,
Was ftanding at the open gate,
When lo! the farming cart came out,
And coach was forc'd to turn about-
Then drawing up with high difdain—
In language infolent and vain,
The cart addrefs'd Thou low-liv'd thingFaugh! what a horrid fcent you bring
Do, pray be gone-nor longer hurt
My nofe refin'd-with filthy dirt-
But t'other day, your horfes' heels
Befpatter'd by new painted wheels-
Begone thou wretch-go, carry hay,
Your dung, your straw, your gravel-clay-
Keep diftance due-nor dare approach
The prefence of your mafter's coach-
With modeft tone the cart reply'd,
Thou gaudy thing! I fpurn thy pride.
Yet pompous gewgaw! know from me,
My labour's the fupport of thee!-
Did I not early toil, and late,
Thou foon wouldft drop thy boafted state-
Did not groan beneath manure,
I
Thy equipage wou'd not be sure-
And fhould I not the mart attend,
Thy dignity wou'd have an end-
I grant, thou haft fome little ufe;
But why throw out fuch low abuse?
Learn reafon-act thy proper part-
We both are fervants-Coach or Cart."
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