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With cane extended far I sought

To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught,

Escap'd my eager hand,

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains

With fixt consid'rate face,
And puzzling sat his puppy brains

To comprehend the case.

But with a chirrup clear and strong,

Dispersing all his dream,
I thence withdrew, and follow'd long

The windings of the stream.

My ramble finishd, I return'd.

Beau trotting far before
The floating wreath again discern'd,

And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd

Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon be dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the fight, the world, I cried,

Shall hear of this thy deed, My dog shall mortify the pride

Of man's fuperior breed;

But, chief, myself I will enjoin,

Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thinę

To Him who gives me all.

ON THE RECEIPT OF

MY MOTHER'S PICTURE

OUT OF NORFOLK.

THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN ANN BODHAM.

Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass’d
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say,
“ Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!"
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.

Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
Oh welcome guest, though unexpected, here !
Who bidd'It me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother loft so long.
I will obey, not willingly alone,
But gladly, as the precept were her own;
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charnı for

my

relief

Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art she.

My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead,
Say, walt thou conscious of the tears I lhed?
Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gav'lt me, though unseen, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss
Ah that maternal smile! it answers-Yes.
I heard the bell tolld on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee flow away,
And, turning from my nurs’ry window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such ?-It was.-Where thou art gone
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful More,
The parting found fall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens griev'd themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of a quick return.
What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd,
And, disappointed still, was still deceiv'd;
By disappointment every day beguild,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant forrows spent,
I learn'd at last submission to my lot,
But, though I lefs deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot,

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Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nurs’ry floor; And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we call'd the past'ral house our own. Short-liv'd poffeffion! but the record fair, That mem’ry keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm that has effac'd A thousand other themes less deeply trac' Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou might'st know me safe and warmly

land; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, The biscuit or confectionary plum; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd, By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd: All this, and, more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Ne'er roughen’d by those cataracts and breaks That humour interpos’d too often makes; All this still legible in mem'ry's page, And still to be so to my latest

age, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honours to thee as my numbers may;

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