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Old Arthur's board: on the capacious round
TO THE RIVER LODON.
Ah! what a weary race my feet have run,
THE PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT. 1746.
When now mature in classic knowledge,
Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated,
When nine full tedious winters past,
6. These fellowships are pretty things,
Too fond of freedom and of ease
Continuing this fantastic farce on,
Thus fixt, content he taps his barrel,
Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
When calm around the common room And—but on Sundays-hears no bells;
I puff’d my daily pipe's perfume ! Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
Rode for a stomach, and inspected, And prunes himself each sapless shoot;
At annual bottlings, corks selected: Plants cauliflow'rs, and boasts to rear
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under The earliest melons of the year;
The portrait of our pious founder! Thinks alteration charming work is,
When impositions were supply'd Keeps bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;
To light my pipe-or soothe my prideBuilds in his copse a fav’rite bench,
No cares were then for forward peas, And stores the pond with carp and tench.
A yearly-longing wife to please; But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast
My thoughts no christ’ning dinners crost, By cares domestic is opprest;
No children cry'd for butter'd toast; And a third butcher's bill, and brewing,
And ev'ry night I went to bed, Threaten inevitable ruin:
Without a modus in my head !" For children fresh expenses yet,
Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart ! And Dicky now for school is fit.
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art; “ Why did I sell my college life
A dupe to follies yet untry'd, (He cries) for benefice and wife?
And sick of pleasures scarce enjoy'd ! Return, ye days! when endless pleasure
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases, I found in reading, or in leisure !
And in pursuit alone it pleases.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own, The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth; Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheered by the sallies of youth.
Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard, Never sighed at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a sabbath appeared.
Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
O share Maria's grief!
Assassined by a thief.
And though by nature mute,
Of flagelet or flute.
His bosom of the hue,
To sweep up all the dew.
No cat had leave to dwell;
Large-built and latticed well.
For Bully's plumage sake, But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, With which, when neatly peeled and dried,
The swains their baskets make.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Of a land, I shall visit no more.
A wish or a thought after me?
Though a friend I am never to see.
Ilow fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
Night veiled the pole. All seemed secure. When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth-sallied on the scout,
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT Long-backed, long-tailed, with whisker'd snout, And badger-coloured bide.
TO MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON. He, entering at the study-door,
Maria! I have every good
For thee wished many a time,
Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possest
Can I for thee require,
In wedded love already blest,
To thy whole heart's desire?
None here is happy but in part:
Full bliss is bliss divine;
There dwells some wish in every heart, Minute the horrors that ensued;
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish on some fair future day,
Which fate shall brightly gild,
('Tis blameless, be it what it may)
I wish it all fulfilled.
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
I shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,
If birds confabulate or no;
'Tis clear that they were always able His head alone remained to tell
To hold discourse, at least in fable;
And e'en the child who knows no better,
Must have a most uncommon skull.
It chanced then on a winter's day,
But warm, and bright, and calm as May, Which Mary to Anna conveyed,
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestall sweet St. Valentine, The plentiful moisture incumbered the flower,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove, And weighed down its beautiful head.
Assembled on affairs of love, The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet; And with much twitter and much chatter, And it seemed, to a fanciful view,
Began to agitate the matter. To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
At length a Bulfinch, who could boast On the flourishing bush where it grew.
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, opening wide his beak, I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
A moment's liberty to speak; For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,
And, silence publicly enjoined, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
Delivered briefly thus his mind. I snapped it, it fell to the ground.
My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject upon which we meet; And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part
I fear we shall have winter yet. Some act by the delicate mind,
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart Already to sorrow resigned.
With golden wing, and satin pole,
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
What marriage ineans, thus pert replied. Might have bloomed with its owner a while, Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, Opposite in the apple-tree, May be followed perhaps by a smile.
By his good will would keep us single,
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,
Beau marked my unsuccessful pains Or (which is likelier to befal)
With fixt considerate face, Till death exterminate us all.
And puzzling sat his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.
But with a chirrup clear and strong,
Dispersing all his dream, Attested, glad, his approbation
I thence withdrew, and followed long Of an immediate conjugation.
The windings of the stream. Their sentiments so well exprest
My ramble finished, I returned, Influenced mightily the rest,
Beau trotting far before All paired, and each pair built a nest.
The floating wreath again discerned,
And plunging left the shore.
I saw him with that lily eropped
Impatient swim to meet Not altogether smiled on theirs.
My quick approach, and soon he dropped The wind, of late breathed gently forth,
The treasure at my feet.
Charmed with the sight, the world, I cried, Could shelter them from rain or snow;
Shall hear of this thy deed : Stepping into their nests, they paddled,
My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed:
But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call, Except that they had ever met,
To shew a love as prompt as thine And learned in future to be wiser,
To Him who gives me all. Than to neglect a good adviser.
THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSI.
Misses! the tale that I relate
This lesson seems to carry
But proper time to marry.
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
The noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
I wandered on his side.
And high in pedigree,
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.
An Oyster, cast upon the shore,
Ah, hapless wretch! condemned to dwell
When, cry the botanists, and stare,
You shapeless nothing in a dish,