On his wan cheek, will soon sweep over him Wild and most sorrowful. His cheek is pale, Thy love will lay his pallid cheek to thine, MY STUDY, A Letter in Hudibrastic Verse. YOU bid me, Ned, describe the place And wanton with the muse in glory. Well, figure to your senses straight, With white-wash'd walls, and plaster floor. To admit a single chair and table: A smoky grate my fire to hold; So wonderous small, 'twould much it pose To melt the ice-drop on one's nose; Full half the spacious room and more. A window vainly stuff'd about, My furniture, I sure may crack- A table, wanting just two legs, The work of, Sir, your humble Servant; From which, my night-parched throat I lave, A chest of drawers, in antique sections, Swears nothing but a doll could use 'em. Of oddities upon the floor, A pair of globes, electric balls, Scales, quadrants, prisms and coblers' awls, And crowds of books, on rotten shelves, Octavos, folios, quartos, twelves; I think, dear Ned, you curious dog, My bellows destitute of snout; And on the walls,-Good Heavens! why there I've such a load of precious ware, Of heads, and coins, and silver medals, And organ works, and broken pedals, Though soon of that employ I grew sick) That you, at such a sight, would swear There stands, just by a broken sphere, A neck, on which by logic good I know for sure a head once stood; To christen Chaucer's busto, Homer, Because they both have beards, which you know Will mark them well from Joan, and Juno,) For some great man, I could not tell Then all around in just degree, With these fair dames, and heroes round, Thus, though my heart may seem so small, No more may Heaven her blessings give ; TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire! Was nurs'd in whirling storms And cradled in the winds. Thee, when young spring first question'd winter's sway, And dar'd the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Thy tender elegance. So Virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of life, she rears her head Obscure and unobserv'd; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, And hardens her to bear Serene the ills of life. |