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For, settling on his grated roof,
That he desired no more;
A prisoner as before.
Oh ye, who never knew the joys
Fandango, ball, and rout!
To liberty without.
THE NEEDLESS ALARM.
THERE is a field, through which I often pass, Thick overspread with mass and silky grass, Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, Where eft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,
Reserved to solace many a neighbouring 'squire,
Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
The sun, accomplishing his early march,
Or with the high-raised horn's melodious clang
But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burst appeared, The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that grazed, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed," Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round But, recollecting with a sudden thought, [again; · The flight in circles urged advanced them nought, They gathered close around the old pit's brink, i And thought again-but knew not what to think.
The man to solitude accustomed long, Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees, Have speech for him, and understood with ease; After long drought, when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all: . Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, How.glad they catch the largess of the skies;
* Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esg..
But, with precision nicer still, the mind
This truth premised was needful as a text,
Awhile they mused; surveying every face, Thou hadst supposed them of superior race; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combined, Stamped on each countenance such marks of mind, That sage they seemed, ás lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, matbematic truths; When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, A ram, the ewes and wethers sad, addressed.
Friends! we have lived too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be feared. Could I believe that winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prison-house below arise, With all these hideous howlings to the skies, I could be much composed, nor should appear For such a cause to feel the slightest fear. Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolled All night, we resting quiet in the fold;
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
But ab! those dreadful yells what soul can hear, · That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them, doubtless, brazen-clawed
Him answered then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he, à Cambrian ewe.''
How leap into the pit our life to save? :o To save our life leap all into the grave? For can we find it less ? 'Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there, we burst: Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small; For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of dæmons uttered, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and tilt the cause appear" We have at least commodious standing here. Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast From earth or hell, we can but pludge at last,