Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,
By human pride or cunning driv'n

To mis'ry's brink,

Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n,
He, ruin'd sink!

Ev'n thou, who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine--no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate,

ON A GOLDFINCH,

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.

TIME was when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,

My drink the morning dew;
I perched at will on every spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new.

But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain,
And form genteel were all in vain,
And of a transient date;

For caught and cag'd, and starv'd to death,
In dying sighs my little breath
Soon passed the wiry grate.

Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close

And cure of every ill!

More cruelty could none express;
And I, if you had shown me less,
Had been your prisoner still.

COWPER.

THE MOUSE'S PETITION.*

O, HEAR a pensive prisoner's prayer,

For liberty that sighs;

And never let thine heart be shut

Against the wretch's cries!

* Found in a trap where it had been confined all night by Dr. Priestley, for

the sake of making experiments with different kinds of air.

K

For here forlorn and sad I sit,
Within my wiry grate ;

And tremble at th' approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd,
And spurned a tyrant's chain;
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born Mouse detain !

O, do not stain with guiltless blood,
Thy hospitable hearth!

Nor triumph that thy wiles betray'd
A prize so little worth.

The scattered gleanings of a feast
My frugal meals supply ;
Let not thine unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny.

The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given :
Let Nature's commoners enjoy
The common gifts of Heaven.

The well-taught philosophic mind
To all compassion gives;
Cast round the world an equal eye,

And feels for all that lives.

MRS. BARBAULD.

The following is an extract from a letter written by Alexander Wilson to Mr. Bartram.-"One of my boys caught a mouse in school, a few days ago, and directly marched up to me with his prisoner. I set about drawing it the same evening; and all the while the pantings of its little heart showed it to be in the most extreme agonies of fear. I had intended to kill it, in order to fix it in the claws of a stuffed owl; but happening to spill a few drops of water near where it was tied, it lapped it up with such eagerness, and looked in my face with such an eye of supplicating terror, as perfectly overcame me. I immediately untied it, and restored it to life and liberty. The agonies of a prisoner at the stake, while the fire and instruments of torment are preparing, could not be more severe than the sufferings of that poor mouse; and insignificant as the object was, I felt at that moment the sweet sensations which mercy leaves on the mind when she triumphs over cruelty."

NIGHT-BLOWING FLOWERS.

CALL back your odours, lonely flowers,
From the night-wind call them back,
And fold your leaves till the laughing hours
Come forth on the sunbeam's track!

The lark lies couch'd in his grassy nest,
And the honey-bee is gone,

And all bright things are away to rest-
Why watch ye thus alone ?

Is not your world a mournful one,
When your sisters close their eyes,

And

your

soft breath meets not a lingering tone Of song in the starry skies?

Take ye no joy in the day-spring's birth,
When it kindles the sparks of dew?
And the thousand strains of the forest's mirth,
Shall they gladden all but you?

Shut

your sweet bells till the fawn comes out On the sunny turf to play,

And the woodland child, with a fairy shout,
Goes dancing on his way.

Nay, let our shadowy beauty bloom,
When the stars give quiet light;

And let us offer our faint perfume
On the silent shrine of night.

Call it not wasted, the scent we lend
To the breeze when no step is nigh;
Oh! thus for ever the earth shall send
Her grateful breath on high !

And love us as emblems, night's dewy flowers,

Of hopes unto sorrow given,

That spring through the gloom of the darkest hours,
Looking alone to Heaven!

MRS. HEMANS.

It is a curious fact, that many flowers which have no scent in the day-time, emit a powerful odour in the evening. This is the property of those which Linnæus has elegantly termed, flores tristes, melancholy flowers. May not this wonderful provision in them be intended to attract numerous insects, particularly the moth-tribes, which seek their food in the evening from such plants?

From plants that wake, when others sleep,
From timid jasmine buds that keep
Their odour to themselves all day,
But, when the sun-light dies away,
Let the delicious secret out

To every breeze that roams about.

THE FLOWERS.

The Heliotrope ...THROUGH all the changes of the day
I turn me to the Sun:

In clear or cloudy skies I say
Alike-Thy will be done!

The Violet........A lowly flower, in secret bower,

The Lily

The Rose

Invincible I dwell;

For blessing made, without parade,
Known only by the smell.

..Emblem of him, in whom no stain
The eye of Heaven could see,
In all their glory, monarchs vain
Are not array'd like me.

.........With ravish'd heart that crimson hail,

Which in my bosom glows:

Think how the lily of the vale
Became like Sharon's rose.