Abbildungen der Seite

Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown ;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-
We frolic while 'tis May.




Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes.


WAS on a lofty vase's side,

Where China's gayest art had dy'd

The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,

The pensive Selima, reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,

Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had she gaz'd; but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream:

Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw :
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,

She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize.
What female heart çan gold despise ?
What Cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulph between :
(Malignant Fate sat by and smil'd)
The slipp❜ry verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to ev'ry wat❜ry god,
Some speedy aid to send.

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stir'd:
Nor cruel Toм, nor SUSAN heard,

A Fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know one false step is ne'er retriev❜d,

And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glitters, gold.




YE distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the. wat❜ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her HENRY's holy shade;

And ye, that from the stately brow
Of WINDSOR'S heights th❜ expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way:

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields belov'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to sooth,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.

Say, Father THAMES, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthrall?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent,

Their murmʼring labours ply

'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers disdain

The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy....

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom Health, of rosy hue,
Wild Wit, Invention ever-new,

And lively Cheer, of Vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom
The little victims play!

No sense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day:

Yet see, how all around 'em wait

The Ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, shew them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band! Ah, tell them they are men!

« ZurückWeiter »