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MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S
YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red With tears o'er hapless fav'rites shed, O share Maria's grief!
Her fav'rite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage?) Assassin'd by a thief.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among, The egg was laid from which he sprung; And, though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught he all the sounds express'd Of flagelet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the sleekest mole,
His bosom of the hue,
With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise,
Above, below, in all the house,
And Bully's cage supported stood props of smoothest shaven wood, Large-built and lattic'd well.
Well-lattic'd-but the grate, alas!
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
Night veil'd the pole: all seem'd secure: When led by instinct sharp and sure, Subsistence to provide,
284 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.
A beast forth sallied on the scout,
He, ent'ring at the study-door,
It's ample area 'gan explore;
And something in the wind
Conjectur'd, sniffing round and round,
Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Minute the horrors that ensu'd;
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood-
O had he made that too his prey;
Might have repaid him well, I wote,
Maria weeps the Muses mourn—
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell,
The cruel death he died.
THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r, Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flow'r, And weigh'd down it's beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with it's owner a while; And the tear, that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.