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ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
ODE TO APOLLO.
|In many an orchard, copse, and
grove, Assernbled on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.
Entreated, opening wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
Delivered briefly thus his mind:
My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we meet:
I fear we shall have winter yet.
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
With golden wing, and satin poll,
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied:
Opposite in the apple-tree,
By his good will would keep us single Ordained perhaps ere summer Nies, Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle, Combined with millions more,
Or (which is likelier to befall) To form an Iris in the skies,
Till death exterminate us all. Though black and foul before.
I'll marry without more ado,
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?
Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Of all that ever past my pen,
Turning short round, strutting and sideling, So soon to be forgot!
Attested, glad, his approbation
Of an immediate conjugation. Phæbus, if such be thy design,
Their sentiments, so well expressed, To place it in thy bow,
Influenced mightily the rest; Give wit, that what is left may shine
All paired, and cach pair built a nest. With equal grace below.
But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves came on not quite so fast, PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
And Destiny, that sometimes bears
An aspect stern on man's atlairs,
Not altogether smiled on theirs.
The wind, of late breathed gently forth,
Now shifted east, and east by north; 'Tis clear, that they were always able
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
Could shelter them from rain or snow;
Stepping into their nests, they paddled,
Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled; Than to interpret by the letter A story of a cock and bull,
Soon every father bird and mother Must have a most uncommon scull.
Grew quarrelsome and pecked each other,
Parted without the least regret, It chanced then on a winter's day,
Except that they had ever met,
And learned in future to be wiser,
Than to neglect a good adviser.
MORAL. * It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philoso.
Misses! the tale that I relato pher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of
This lesson seems to carrydeception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can
Choose not alone a proper mate, be, against the evidence of his sensea ?
But proper time to marry.
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SEN
The noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide, When, 'scaped from literary cares,
I wandered on his side.
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs* adorned with every grace
That spaniel found for me.)
Now starting into sight,
With scarce a slower flight.
His lilies newly blown;
And one I wished my own.
To steer it close to land;
Escaped my eager hand.
With fixed considerate face,
To comprehend the case.
Dispersing all his dream,
The windings of the stream.
Beau, trotting far before,
And plunging left the shore.
Impatient swim to meet
The treasure at my feet. Charmed with the siglit, the world, I cried,
Shall hear of this thy decd : My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed
Awake at duty's call,
To Him who gives me all.
An Oyster, cast upon the shore,
Ah, hapless wretch, condemned to dwell
The plant he meant, grew not far off,
When, cry the botanists, and stare,
there? No matter when—a poet's muse is To make them grow just where she chooses,
You shapeless nothing in a dish,
A poet, in his evening walk,
You, in your grotto-work enclosed,
* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.
And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, Who reckon every touch a blemish, If all the plants, that can be found Embellishing the scene around, Should droop and wither where they grow, You would not feel at all-not you. The noblest minds their virtue prove By pity, sympathy, and love: These, these are feelings truly fine, And prove their owner half divine.
His censure reached them as he dealt it, And each by shrinking showed he felt it.
'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets,
Where Flora is still in her prime, A fortress to which she retreats
From the cruel assaults of the clime. While Earth wears a mantle of snow,
These pinks are as fresh and as gay As the fairest and swcetest that blow
On the beautiful bosom of May. See how they have safely survived
The frowns of a sky so severe; Such Mary's true love, that has lived
Through many a turbulent year. The charms of the late blowing rose
Seemed graced with a livelier hue, And the winter of sorrow best shows
The truth of a friend such as you.
WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION.
Oh, happy shades—to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me! How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that can not rest, agree!
NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED
This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quivering to the breeze, Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please. But fixed unalterable Care
Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness every where,
And slights the season and the scene. For all that pleased in wood or lawn,
While Peace possessed these silent bowers, Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its powers The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley musing, slow; They seek like me the secret shade,
But not like me to nourish wo!
The lady thus addressed her spouse:
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
You are so deaf, the lady cried,
Dismiss poor Harry! he replies;
Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing
Alas! and is domestic strife,
Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam; These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
THE WINTER NOSEGAY.
What Nature, alas! has denied
To the delicate growth of our isle, Art has in a measure supplied,
And winter is decked with a smile. See, Mary, what beauties I bring
From the shelter of that sunny shed, Where the flowers have the charms of the spring,
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.
The kindest and the happiest pair
· The love that cheers life's latest stage,
Ask him, if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Agents of his will to use?
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's sons should undergo, Fixed their tyrant's habitations
Where his whirlwinds answer-no. By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries that we tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main; By our suffering since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
Only by a broken heart:
Till some reason ye shall find
Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours!
THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. Forced from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn;
O’er the raging billows borne.
Paid my price in paltry gold; But, though slave they have enrolled me
Minds are never to be sold. Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task ? Fleecy locks and black complexion
Can not forfeit Nature's claim; Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same. Why did all creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil ? Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards; Think how many backs have smarted
For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there one who reigns on high ? Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his thronc the sky?
PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.
Video meliora proboque,
Deteriora sequor.'I own I am shocked at the purchase of slaves, And fear those who buy them and sell them are
knaves; What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and
Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes,
purpose to answer you, out of my mint; Some clouds which had over us hung, But I can assure you I saw it in print.
Fled, chased by her melody clear,
And methought while she liberty sung,
'Twas liberty only to hear.
Thus swiftly dividing the flood,
To a slave-cultured island we came,
Oppression his terrible name.
A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
And stood looking out for his prey
From Africa's sorrowful shore.
But soon as approaching the land
I saw him both sicken and die,
And the moment the monster expired,
Heard shouts that ascended the sky,
From thousands with rapture inspired.
Awaking how could I but muse
At what such a dream should betide ?
Which served my weak thought for a guide
For the hatred she ever has showil,
To the black-sceptered rulers of slaves,
Resolves to have none of her own.
NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.
THE MORNING DREAM.
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
So pleasant it seemed as I lay,
Far hence to the westward I sailed,
And the fresh-blowing breeze never failed.
Such at least was the form that she wore,
Ne'er taught me by woman before.
Shed light, like a sun on the waves
'I go to make freemen of slaves.'
The sweetest that ear ever heard,
Wherever her glory appeared.
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long