But feel our sacred maxim true,
That perfect love will cast out fear!"

"This Stag to thee will ever shew
The gratitude, thy strains inspire!
And those, who soothe a parent's woe,
Are dear to Heaven's all-soothing sire."

"Our duty to this hapless fawn
We will perform, and often fly
To hail his grave at early dawn;
Youth and misfortune claim a sigh!"

The lovely nymph prophetic spoke;
The Stag, as taught by powers above,
Oft met them at their fav'rite oak,
And seem'd to bless their tender love.

Here oft the little fair retir'd;
Here lov'd from gayer scenes withdrawn,
To breathe, what harmony inspir'd--
A dirge to memorize the fawn!


* * * * *




THE STORK.