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So wonderous small, 'twould much it pose
Full half the spacious room and more.
A window vainly stuff'd about,
My furniture I sure may crack-
From which my night-parch'd throat I lave,
A chest of drawers, in antique sections,
Swears nothing but a doll could use 'em.
Of oddities upon the floor,
A pair of globes, electric balls,
Scales, quadrants, prisms and cobler's awls, And crowds of books, on rotten shelves, Octavos, folios, quartos, twelves;
I think, dear Ned, you curious dog,
But stay, I nearly had left out
My bellows destitute of snout;
And on the walls,-Good Heavens! why there
Of heads, and coins, and silver medals,
That you, at such a sight, would swear
A neck, on which, by logic good,
Nor think it ought of a misnomer
To christen Chaucer's busto Homer,
Because they both have beards, which you know,
Will mark them well from Joan, and Juno,)
For some great man, I could not tell
Then all around in just degree,
With these fair dames, and heroes round,
Thus, though my heart may seem so small,
No more may heaven her blessings give,
TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE.
MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire!
Was nurs'd in whirling storms,
And cradled in the winds.
Thee, when young Spring first question'd Winter's sway, And dar'd the sturdy blusterer to the fight,
Thee on this bank he threw
To mark his victory.
In this low vale, the promise of the year,
Thy tender elegance.
So Virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms
Of life she rears her head,
Obscure and unobserv'd;
While every bleaching breeze that on her blows,
And hardens her to bear
Serene the ills of life.
To the River Trent. Written on Recovery from Sickness. ONCE more, O TRENT! along thy pebbly marge. A pensive invalid, reduced and pale,
From the close sick-room newly let at large,
Wooes to his wan-woru cheek the pleasant gale.
Which fills with joy the throstle's little throat! And all the sounds which on the fresh breeze sail, How wildly novel on his senses float!
It was on this that many a sleepless night,
As, lone, he watched the taper's sickly gleam, And at his casement heard, with wild affright, The owl's dull wing, and melancholy scream, On this he thought, this, this, his sole desire, Thus once again to hear the warbling woodland choir.
GIVE me a cottage on some Cambrian wild,