Memorials of his dire success,

And of parental wretchedness.

One nest alone the urchin spar'd, But for its young a jail prepar'd, Where they the sunny fields might see, But never taste life's liberty; That precious boon, in mercy given To every creature under heaven, As much their birth-right to enjoy, As his, that wicked tyrant boy. Alas! unhappy flutt'ring things, In vain they ply their restless wings; In vain, with wide distended beak, A parent's nourishment they seek; In vain their mournful chirps implore The kindness they must feel no more. Poor victims! their disastrous fate Was happily, of transient date: For Death, their best and kindest friend, Soon brought their sufferings to an end.

A hungry Cat, who pass'd that way, When their young jailer was at play, Espied with joy the helpless brood, And deeming them delicious food, Pounc'd on the cage with talons fell, And tore them piecemeal from their cell. Feasted, and having done her task, She lays her in the sun to bask; She licks her velvet paws, and glides Her tongue along her tabby sides:

At length her half-shut eyes she closes,
And in delicious sleep reposes.

The youngster, being tir'd of play,
Returns, his prisoners to survey:

'What means this death-like silence round?
What mean these fragments on the ground?'
He cries; and soon the truth he knows,
And sees the author of his woes.

'The Cat, vile Cat, has seiz'd the prey,
' And with her life the wrong shall pay!'
Grimalkin just in time awoke

To shun the fierce impending stroke;
To hear his angry, threatening speech,
And spring aloft beyond his reach.
In safety plac'd, with words of truth
She thus harangu'd the spoiler youth:

'Suppress your rage, intemperate elf, 'Or turn the vengeance on yourself!

Think, wretch, how many nests you plunder, 'How many ties you rend asunder, • Without excuse, pretence, or plea, From the mere love of cruelty! * True, on your victims I have fed, 'But 'twas by nature's dictates led; ' Impell❜d by hunger and by right, To serve a craving appetite.'

FABLE LXIV.

THE FALCON AND THE HEN.

THRO' pride of heart, or private grudge,
We oft amiss of others judge;

Not always stands another's case,
As our's would, standing in his place,
He, therefore, who would see things right,
Must view them well in ev'ry light;
As Pilpay, sage, thro' India fam'd,
And e'en by us with rev'rence nam'd,
Taught, in this story, fit for youth,
A tale in form, in fact a truth.

A Falcon, by a farmer kept,
As one day thro' his yard he stepp'd,
At a poor Hen began to scowl,
And call'd her 'base ungrateful fowl!'
Ungrateful!' said the Hen, and why?
'What act of that low kind do I?'

6

Many,' the Falcon quick replied, 'Nor pass they, Partlet, unespied. Much sure you unto mankind owe, 'Who all that you can ask bestow; 'Whate'er you eat, 'tis they provide, And, for your ease, at night, beside, A roost they give, in which you sleep, And locks and bolts in safety keep

• From rav'ning Kite, fell bird of prey,
'Or Fox that prowls at break o' day.
'Yet, if they but extend their hands,
'You fly averse to their commands,
'Forget these benefits, and run

'Thro' wilds and brakes your friends to shun. 'Not so, altho' by Nature wild,

'Do I behave, but, ever mild,

• Obedient to their arms I press,
Receive with pride each kind caress,
• Feed from their hands, nor fear, if they,
'Or stroke my tail, or with me play.'

True,' cried the Hen; but know you why, 'Tho' you are safe, I ought to fly?

No Falcon, friend, you've seen as yet,

• Sit neatly truss'd upon a spit;

Roast, boil'd, or broil'd, as each likes best,

The white-legg'd pullet's daily dress'd.

'Call you ungrateful my retreat

• From those who feed me but to eat?'

FABLE LXV.

THE CUCKOW TRAVELLER.

A CUCKOW once, as Cuckows use,
Had been upon a winter's cruise,
Return'd with the returning spring-
Some hundred brothers of the wing,
Curious to hear of foreign realms,
Got round him in a tuft of elms.
He shook his pinions, struck his beak,
Attempted twice or thrice to speak;
At length, up-rising on his stand,

• Old England! Well, the land's a land!

But, trust me, gentlemen, says he,

'We passage fowl that cross the sea
• Have vast advantages o'er you,
Whose native woods are all you view.
The season past I took a jaunt

'Among the isles of the Levant;

Where, by the way, I took my dose
Of almonds and pistachios.

''Twas then my whim some weeks to be

In that choice garden, Italy:

'But, underneath the sky's expanse,
'No climate like the south of France!
You've often heard, and I declare,
That Ortolans are plenty there;