The warders of the growing hour, And round them sea and air are dark With great contrivances of Power. Of many changes, aptly join'd, Is bodied forth the second whole. A wind to puff your idol-fires, And heap their ashes on the head; To shame the boasting words, we said, That we are wiser than our sires. Oh yet, if Nature's evil star Drive men in manhood, as in youth, Across the brazen bridge of war— If New and Old, disastrous feud, Must ever shock, like armed foes, And this be true, till Time shall close, That Principles are rain'd in blood; Not yet the wise of heart would cease Would pace the troubled land, like Peace; Not less, though dogs of Faction bay, Would serve his kind in deed and word, Certain, if knowledge bring the sword, That knowledge takes the sword away— Would love the gleams of good that broke From either side, nor veil his eyes : And if some dreadful need should rise Would strike, and firmly, and one stroke: To-morrow yet would reap to-day, As we bear blossom of the dead. Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed Raw Haste, half-sister to Delay. THE GOOSE. I. I KNEW an old wife lean and poor, Her rags scarce held together; There strode a stranger to the door, And it was windy weather. He utter'd rhyme and reason, "Here, take the goose, and keep you warm, It is a stormy season." III. She caught the white goose by the leg, A goose 'twas no great matter. The goose let fall a golden egg With cackle and with clatter. IV. She dropt the goose, and caught the pelf, And ran to tell her neighbours; And bless'd herself, and cursed herself, And rested from her labours. V. And feeding high, and living soft, VI. So sitting, served by man and maid, VII. 'It clutter'd here, it chuckled there ; It stirr'd the old wife's mettle : She shifted in her elbow-chair, And hurl'd the pan and kettle. |