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Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found
Beware of desp’rate steps. The darkest day (Left till to-morrow) will have pass'd away.
DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
NO FABL E.
The noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
I wander'd on his side.
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs,' adorn’d with ev'ry grace,
That spaniel found for me)
Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.
It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown;
And one I wish'd my own.
With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land;
Escap'd my eager hand. .
p Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.
Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains
With fixt consid'rate face,
And puzzling sat his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.
But with a chirrup clear and strong,
Dispersing all his dream,
The windings of the stream.
My ramble finish’d, I return'd.
Beau trotting far before
And plunging left the shore.
I saw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd The treasure at my
Charm’d with the sight, the world, I cried,
Shall hear of this thy deed, My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed;
But, chief, myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,
To Him who gives me all.