The open windows seem'd t' invite But Tom was still confin'd; And Dick, although his way was clear, Was much too gen'rous and sincere, To leave his friend behind. So settling on his cage, by play, Nor would he quit that chosen stand, Oh ye, who never taste the joys Blush, when I tell you how a bird, THE NEEDLESS ALARM. A TALE. THERE is a field, through which I often pass, 1 Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed; Nor Autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray, With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away; But corn was hous'd, and beans were in the stack, Now therefore issu'd forth the spotted pack, With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats, With a whole gamut fill'd of heav'nly notes, For which, alas! my destiny severe, Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. The Sun, accomplishing his early march, And heedless whither, to that field I came, Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found, Sheep graz'd the field; some with soft bosom press'd The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest; Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook, Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd, To me their peace by kind contagion spread. • Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq. But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz'd, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round again; But, recollecting with a sudden thought, That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought, They gather'd close around the old pit's brink, And thought again-but knew not what to think. The man to solitude accustom'd long, Perceives in ev'ry thing that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees, Have speech for him, and understood with ease; After long drought, when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flow'rs rejoicing all; Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, How glad they catch the largess of the skies; But, with precision nicer still, the mind He scans of ev'ry locomotive kind; Birds of all feather, beasts of ev'ry name, That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame; The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears He spells them true by intuition's light, This truth premis'd was needful as a text, To win due credence to what follows next. Awhile they mus'd; surveying ev'ry face, Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. Could I believe, that winds for ages pent In Earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, |