Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more,
Disjoining from the rest, has unobserved,
Achieved a labour which had, far and wide,
By man performed, made all the forest ring.

110

Embowelled now, and of thy ancient self Possessing naught but the scooped rind that seems A huge throat calling to the clouds for drink, Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, Thou temptest none, but rather much forbiddest The feller's toil which thou couldst ill requite. 115 Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs, Which, crooked into a thousand whimsies, clasp The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect.

So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet 120
Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid,
Though all the superstructure, by the tooth
Pulverized of venality, a shell

Stands now, and semblance only of itself!
Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent

them off

Long since, and rovers of the forest wild

125

With bow and shaft have burnt them. Some have

left

130

A splintered stump bleached to a snowy white;
And some memorial none where once they grew.
Yet Life still lingers in thee, and puts forth
Proof not contemptible of what she can,
Even where Death predominates. The spring
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force
Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood,
So much thy juniors, who, their birth received 135
Half a millennium since the date of thine.

But since, although well qualified by age
To teach, no Spirit dwells in thee, nor voice
May be expected from thee, seated here
'On thy distorted root, with hearers none,
Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform
Myself the oracle, and will discourse
In my own ear such matter as I may.

One man alone, the father of us all,

Drew not his life from woman; never gazed,
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw,
On all around him; learned not by degrees,
Nor owed articulation to his ear;
But moulded by his Maker into man
At once, upstood intelligent, surveyed
All creatures, with precision understood
Their purport, uses, properties, resigned
To each his name significant, and, filled
With love and wisdom, rendered back to Heaven
In praise harmonious the first air he drew.
He was excused the penalties of dull
Minority. No tutor charged his hand

140

145

150

155

With the thought-tracing quill, or tasked his mind With problems. History, not wanted yet,

Leaned on her elbow, watching Time, whose course Eventful, should supply her with a theme; . . .161

1791.

A TALE.*

N Scotland's realm, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;

But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found.

For husband there and wife may

Their union undefiled,

And false ones are as rare almost

As hedgerows in the wild.

boast

5

In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare,

This history chanced of late

This history of a wedded pair,

A chaffinch and his mate.

The spring drew near, each felt a breast
With genial instinct filled;

10

They paired, and would have built a nest,† 15
But found not where to build.

*This tale is founded on an article which appeared in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793: "Glasgow, May 23. In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food." Hayley printed the lines in 1803, vol. ш. p. 299.

Hayley has "and only wished a nest. We have adopted in preference the reading of Dr. John Johnson, in his vol. II. of Cowper's Poems, 8vo. p. 307, 12mo. p. 224.

The mother-bird is gone to sea,

As she had changed her kind; But goes the male? Far wiser, he Is doubtless left behind.

No! Soon as from ashore he saw
The winged mansion move,
He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never failing love.

Then, perching at his consort's side,
Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blast defied,
And cheered her with a song.

The seaman, with sincere delight,

His feathered shipmates eyes,
Scarce less exulting in the sight,
Than when he tows a prize.

For seamen much believe in signs,
And from a chance so new
Each some approaching good divines,
And may his hopes be true!

Hail, honoured land! a desert where
Not even birds can hide;
Yet parent of this loving pair
Whom nothing could divide.

And ye, who, rather than resign

Your matrimonial plan,

Were not afraid to plough the brine,
In company with man.