« AnteriorContinuar »
Night veil’d the pole. All seem'd secure.
Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth-sallied on the scout,
Long-back’d, long-tail'd, with whisker’d snout,
And badger-colour'd hide.
He, ent’ring at the study-door,
And something in the wind
Better than all the books he found,
Food, chiefly, for the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress’d,
In sleep he seem'd to view
Awoke and found it true.
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Ah, Muse! forbear to speak
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood
He left poor Bully's beak.
He left it-but he should have ta'en
That beak, whence issued many a strain
Of such mellifluous tone,
Might have repaid him well, I wote,
Fast set within his own.
The Muses mournSo, when by Bacchanalians torn,
On Thracian Hebrus' side
The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell;
His head alone remain'd to tell
The cruel death he died.
The rose had been wash’d, just wash'd in a
shower, Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flower, And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant Rose, had I shaken it less, Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile,
And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
TO MRS. THROCKMORTON.
Maria! I have ev'ry good
For thee wish'd many a time,
Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhime.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly, Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour, then, not yet possess’d,
Can I for thee require,
To thy whole heart's desire ?
None here is happy but in part;
Full bliss is bliss divine;
There dwells some wish in ev'ry heart,
And, doubtless, one in thine.
That wish, on some fair future day,
Which fate shall brightly gild, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may)
I wish it all fulfill'd.