As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, Not to be tempted from her tender task, Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, Though the whole loosen'd Spring around her blows Her sympathizing lover takes his stand High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings The tedious time away; or else supplies Her place a moment, while she sudden flits To pick the scanty meal. The appointed time With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young, Warm'd and expanded into perfect life, Their brittle bondage break, and come to light A helpless family, demanding food With constant clamor. Oh, what passions then, What melting sentiments of kindly care, On the new parents seize! Away they fly. Affectionate, and undesiring bear The most delicious morsel to their young Which equally distributed, again The search begins. Even so a gentle pair, By fortune sunk, but form'd of generous mould, And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast, In some lone cot amid the distant woods, Sustained alone by providential Heaven, Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train, Check their own appetites and give them all. [Illustration: A gentle pair, by fortune sunk] [Illustration: They weeping eye their infant train] Nor toil alone they scorn: exalting love, By the great Father of the Spring inspir'd Gives instant courage to the fearful race, And to the simple, art. With stealthy wing, Should some rude foot their woody haunts molest, Amid a neighboring bush they silent drop, And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive The unfeeling schoolboy. Hence, around the head Of wandering swain, the white-winged plover wheels Her sounding flight, and then directly on In long excursion skims the level lawn, To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, hence, O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless waste The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud! to lead The hot-pursuing spaniel far astray. Be not the muse asham'd here to bemoan Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant man Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage From liberty confin'd, and boundless air. Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull, Ragged, and all its brightening lustre lost; Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes, Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech. Oh, then, ye friends of love and love-taught song, Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear! If on your bosom innocence can win, Music engage, or piety persuade. But let not chief the nightingale lament Her ruin'd care, too delicately fram'd To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, The astonish'd mother finds a vacant nest, By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns Robb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls Her pinions ruffle, and, low-drooping, scarce