THE LADY AND THE LINNET . A TALE . ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND . Sumit Myrrha novos , veteres ut ponit amictus , Mutat amatores miseros , sic mutat amicos . FRAGM . INCERT . AUTH. TO lift the low , the proud depress , And succour weakness in distress ; A foe forgive , and yet contend With generous ardour for a friend : Are virtues , tho' but thinly sown , Not circumscrib'd to you alone ; Since hourly observation finds They spring in some inferior minds ; Which , tho' we justly pass our praise on , Are not the sound effects of reason ; But often flow from whim or fashion , From pride , or some impurer passion . But you , whom heaven at first design'd The boast and envy of your kind ; Above your sex's censure plac'd , In beauty , breeding , temper , taste ; Who only show regard to merit , Unconscious what yourself inherit ; While other ladies fume and rail In indignation at my tale ; With each reflection pick a quarrel , And find a satire in each moral ; May safely every page peruse , Nor be offended with the Muse ; Where not a single line appears , Which honour dreads , or virtue fears . A hungry hawk , in quest of prey , Wide o'er the forest wing'd his way ; Whence every bird , that haunts the glade , Or warbles in the rural shade , Dispers'd , in wild disorder flies Before the tyrant of the skies . A linnet , feebler than the rest , With weary wings and panting breast Sought Sylvia's window in despair , And fluttering crav'd protection there . Compassion touch'd the fair one's mind , ( For female hearts are always kind . ) Upward the gliding sash she threw , And in the little stranger flew ; There , in her fragrant bosom prest , The nymph revives her drooping guest ; Then ( danger o'er , and all serene ) Restores him to his fields again . What wondrous joy , what grateful love ! Inspir'd the wanderer of the grove ! In unexpected life elate , When now he recollects his fate ! And sets the friendly fair in view , Who gave him life and freedom too ! For gratitude , to courts unknown , And unreturn'd by man alone , Wide thro' the wing'd creation reigns , And dwells amidst the humble plains ; In every verdant field and shade , The just , the generous debt is paid . Back from the Sylvan bower he hies , To thank his dear deliverer flies ; And , at her window , chaunting stood Her praise , with all the zeal he could . There Lin his morning visits pays , And there he tunes his evening lays ; There oft the noon-day hour prolongs , And pours his little soul in songs . His heavenly airs attention drew , And Sylvia soon the warbler knew ; Then uses every charm to win , And draw the wild musician in ; He enters , fearless of a snare , For how should fraud inhabit there ? And now by frequent visits free , At first he perches on her knee ; Then , grown by long acquaintance bolder , Familiarly ascends her shoulder ; And , wholly now devoid of fear , Plays with the pendant in her ear ; O'er all her neck and bosom strays , And , like a lover , learns to teaze ; Pecks on her hand , and fondly sips Delicious nectar from her lips . Thrice happy bird , how wert thou bless'd , Of such superior love possess'd ! Couldst thou but make the tenure sure , And those unrivall'd hours endure ; But love , a light , fantastic thing , Like thee , is always on the wing ; And sacred friendship oft a jest , When center'd in a female breast ! Thus Lin the circling moments past In raptures too refin'd to last ; When ( as his constant court he paid ) Some envious songsters of the shade Observ'd his motions to and fro , For merit's ne'er without a foe . They mark'd the transports of his eye , His sprightly air and glossy dye ; And all agreed to know , ere night , What gave the vagrant such delight . Strait to the beauteous bower they throng , Nor for admittance waited long ; The nymph , whom every charm attends , Receives her new , aerial friends ; With crumbled cake , and fruitage feeds , And feasts them on her choicest seeds ; Did all , that kindness could inspire , To bring her coy acquaintance nigh her ; And Linny now returns , to pay The due devotions of the day ; When to his wondering eyes arose A numerous circle of his foes ; Grief touch'd his soul , to see them there , But , with a seeming easy air , He took his place among the rest , And sat an undistinguish'd guest . Alas , how soon can time destroy The surest pledge of earthly joy ? A favourite's flattering hopes defeat , And tumble tyrants from their state ? For time , indulgent but to few , Deposes kings — and linnets too . He , who was once the nymph's delight , Sits now neglected in her sight ; In vain to charm her ear he tries , New forms engag'd her ears and eyes ! The goldfinch spreads his gaudy coat , And all were ravish'd with his note ; While none attends to Linny's strain , For , ah , poor Linny's plumes were plain . And now ( the mournful warbler flown ) The nymph and friendly bower their own , O'er all reserve their spleen prevails , And every tongue in concert rails : All wonder'd what her eyes could see In such a worthless thing as he ! Who still pursues his private ends , Ungrateful to his kindest friends ; One instance sure might serve to show him ! Alas , how little did they know him ? Some then recounted all the arts He us'd , to vanquish little hearts ; Affirm'd , he still was making love , And kept a miss in every grove ; Could trifle with the meanest fowl , Nay , offer courtship to an owl ! Scandal , tho' pointed in the dark , Is seldom known to miss its mark ; While few will interrupt its aim , Regardless of another's fame ! Even they , by whom we once were lov'd , Thro' life for several years approv'd ! When spleen and envy rail aloud , Are often carried with the crowd ; Preferring , rather than contend , To sacrifice their nearest friend . Thus Sylvia yielded to the birds , Too complaisant to doubt their words ; Nor thought , that creatures so polite Could deal in calumny and spite ! The injur'd Linnet , with their leaves , For decency she still receives ; Who , tho' he sees his foes carest , Like some fond lover , hopes the best ; And doubts his own discerning eyes , But , ah , how obvious is disguise ? At length of hope itself bereft , When now no friendly look was left , And every mark of fondness fled ; He hung his wings , and droop'd his head . And am I then resign'd , he says , To such ungenerous foes as these ? By these defrauded of my bliss ? Is all her kindness come to this ? Yet ah , my tongue , forbear to blame That lov'd , that ever-honour'd name ; This heart , howe'er misus'd at last , Must own unnumber'd favours past ; And shall , tho' ne'er to meet again , The dear remembrance still retain . He spoke — and to the window flew , There sat , and sung his last adieu .