True mother like, to seek her child’s relief,
          And in your breast deposit now her grief. 
          Affection’s pow’r none better know than you,—­
          How few to love were ever half so true! 
          From such a bosom I may pardon crave
          Soft pity’s ever with the good and brave!

          Alas! the wretched lover straight replied,
          The bird was all I could for you provide;
          ’Twas served for dinner.—­Dead?—­exclaimed the dame,
          While trembling terror overspread her frame. 
          No jest, said he, and from the soul I wish,
          My heart, instead of that, had been the dish;
          But doomed alas! am I by fate, ’tis clear,
          To find no grace with her my soul holds dear: 
          I’d nothing left; and when I saw the bird,
          To kill it instantly the thought occurred;
          Those naught we grudge nor spare to entertain,
          Who o’er our feeling bosoms sov’reign reign: 
          All I can do is speedily to get,
          Another falcon:  easily they’re met;
          And by to-morrow I’ll the bird procure. 
          No, Fred’rick, she replied, I now conjure
          You’ll think no more about it; what you’ve done
          Is all that fondness could have shown a son;
          And whether fate has doomed the child to die,
          Or with my prayers the pow’rs above comply;
          For you my gratitude will never end—­
          Pray let us hope to see you as a friend.

          ThenClytia took her leave, and gave her hand;
          A proof his love no more she would withstand. 
          He kissed and bathed her fingers with his tears;
          The second day grim death confirmed their fears: 

          Themourning lasted long and mother’s grief;
          But days and months at length bestowed relief;
          No wretchedness so great, we may depend,
          But what, to time’s all-conqu’ring sithe will bend: 

          Twofamed physicians managed with such care;
          That they recovered her from wild despair,
          And tears gave place to cheerfulness and joy:-
          The one was time the other Venus’ Boy. 
          Her hand fair Clytia on the youth bestowed,
          As much from love as what to him she owed.

          Letnot this instance howsoe’r mislead;
          ’Twere wrong with hope our fond desires to feed,
          And waste our substance thus:—­not all the fair,
          Possess of gratitude a decent share. 
          With this exception they appear divine;
          In lovely woman angel-charms combine;
          The whole indeed I do not here include;
          Alas; too many act the jilt and prude. 
          When kind, they’re ev’ry blessing found below: 
          When otherwise a curse we often know.