ERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo.
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack hare.
Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread, And milk, and oats, and straw; Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, On pippin's russet peel, And, when his juicy salads failed, Sliced carrot pleased him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn, Whereon he loved to bound, To skip and gambol like a fawn, And swing his rump around.
His frisking was at evening hours, For then he lost his fear,
But most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round rolling moons He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons, And every night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake, For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache, And force me to a smile.
But now beneath his walnut shade He finds his long last home, And waits, in snug concealment laid, Till gentler Puss shall come.
He, still more agèd, feels the shocks From which no care can save, And, partner once of Tiney's box, Must soon partake his grave.
SONNET TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER
EEM not, sweet rose, that bloom'st 'midst many a thorn,
Thy friend, though to a cloister's shade consigned, Can e'er forget the charms he left behind, Or pass unheeded this auspicious morn! In happier days to brighter prospects born, Oh, tell thy thoughtless sex, the virtuous mind, Like thee, content in every state may find, And look on Folly's pageantry with scorn;
To steer with nicest art betwixt the extreme Of idle mirth, and affectation coy;
To blend good sense with elegance and ease; To bid Affliction's eye no longer stream; Is thine; best gift the unfailing source of joy, The guide to pleasures which can never cease!
WRITTEN IN A QUARREL
(THE DELIVERY OF IT PREVENTED BY A RECONCILIATION).
HINK, Delia, with what cruel haste
Our fleeting pleasures move,
Nor heedless thus in sorrow waste The moments due to love;
Be wise, my fair, and gently treat These few that are our friends; Think, thus abused, what sad regret Their speedy flight attends!
Sure in those eyes I loved so well, And wished so long to see, Anger I thought could never dwell, Or anger aimed at me.
No bold offence of mine I knew Should e'er provoke your hate; And, early taught to think you true, Still hoped a gentler fate.
With kindness bless the present hour,
Or oh! we meet in vain! What can we do in absence more
Than suffer and complain?
Fated to ills beyond redress, We must endure our woe; The days allowed us to possess, 'Tis madness to forego.
THE SYMPTOMS OF LOVE.
YOULD my Delia know if I love, let her take My last thought at night and the first when I wake;
When my prayers and best wishes preferred for her sake.
Let her guess what I muse on, when rambling alone I stride o'er the stubble each day with my gun, Never ready to shoot till the covey is flown.
Let her think what odd whimsies I have in my brain, When I read one page over and over again,
And discover at last that I read it in vain.
Let her say why so fixed and so steady my look, Without ever regarding the person who spoke, Still affecting to laugh, without hearing the joke.
Or why when with pleasure her praises I hear (That sweetest of melody sure to my ear), I attend, and at once inattentive appear.
And lastly, when summoned to drink to my flame, Let her guess why I never once mention her name, Though herself and the woman I love are the same.
WRITTEN AFTER LEAVING HER AT NEW
OW quick the change from joy to woe! How chequered is our lot below! Seldom we view the prospect fair, Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care (Some pleasing intervals between), Scowl over more than half the scene. Last week with Delia, gentle maid, Far hence in happier fields I strayed, While on her dear enchanting tongue Soft sounds of grateful welcome hung, For absence had withheld it long. "Welcome, my long-lost love," she said, "E'er since our adverse fates decreed That we must part, and I must mourn Till once more blessed by thy return, Love, on whose influence I relied For all the transports I enjoyed, Has played the cruel tyrant's part, And turned tormentor to my heart. But let me hold thee to my breast, Dear partner of my joy and rest, And not a pain, and not a fear, Or anxious doubt shall enter there." Happy, thonght I, the favoured youth, Blessed with such undissembled truth! Five suns successive rose and set, And saw no monarch in his state, Wrapped in the blaze of majesty, So free from every care as I.
« PreviousContinue » |