In dreary days of snow and frost
    Closer to Man will cling the Sparrow: 
  Old friends, although in life we’re crost,
    Their hearts to us will never narrow.

  Give me the bird—­’give me the friend—­
    Will sing in frost—­will love in sorrow—­
  Whate’er mischance to-day may send,
    Will greet me with his sight to-morrow.

A BIRTH-DAY THOUGHT

  Can I, all gracious Providence! 
    Can I deserve thy care: 
  Ah! no; I’ve not the least pretence
    To bounties which I share.

  Have I not been defended still
    From dangers and from death;
  Been safe preserv’d from ev’ry ill
    E’er since thou gav’st me breath?

  I live once more to see the day
    That brought me first to light;
  Oh! teach my willing heart the way
    To take thy mercies right!

  Tho’ dazzling splendour, pomp, and show,
    My fortune has denied,
  Yet more than grandeur can bestow,
    Content hath well supplied.

  I envy no one’s birth or fame,
    Their titles, train, or dress;
  Nor has my pride e’er stretched its aim
    Beyond what I possess.

  I ask and wish not to appear
    More beauteous, rich, or gay: 
  Lord, make me wiser every year,
    And better every day.

THE BOY, THE MOTHER, AND THE BUTTERFLY

[1827]

  Young William held the Butterfly in chase,
  And it was pretty to observe the race
  Betwixt the Fly and Child, who nigh had caught him
  But for a merry jest his Mother taught him. 
  “My valiant Huntsman, fie!” she said, “for shame,
  You are too big a match for so small game,
  To catch the Hare, or nimble Squirrel try,
  Remember, William, He is BUT A FLY.”

  Not always is Humanity imprest
  By serious schooling; a light word or jest
  Will sometimes leave a moral sting behind
  When graver lessons vanish out of mind.

PRINCE DORUS

OR

FLATTERY PUT OUT OF COUNTENANCE

A POETICAL VERSION OF AN ANCIENT TALK

  In days of yore, as Ancient Stories tell,
  A King in love with a great Princess fell. 
  Long at her feet submiss the Monarch sigh’d,
  While she with stern repulse his suit denied. 
  Yet was he form’d by birth to please the fair,
  Dress’d, danc’d, and courted with a Monarch’s air;
  But Magic Spells her frozen breast had steel’d
  With stubborn pride, that knew not how to yield.

  This to the King’ a courteous Fairy told,
  And bade the Monarch in his suit be bold;
  For he that would the charming Princess wed,
  Had only on her cat’s black tail to tread,
  When straight the Spell would vanish into air,
  And he enjoy for life the yielding fair.