But freely own that it was wrong
To argue for your side so long?
Flat contradiction can you bear,
When you are right, and know you are?
Nor flatly contradict again,
But wait, or modestly explain,
For some body that's younger still?
And never try to overbear,
Can you keep down the wicked thought,
And do exactly as you ought?
Ask all these questions of your heart,
And make it act an honest part;
And when they've each been fairly tried,
I think you'll own that you have pride.
Some one will suit you, as you go,
And force your heart to tell you so;
But if they all should be denied,
Then you're too proud to own your pride.
THE SWAIN AND THE RAINBOW.
ONE evening, as a simple swain
His flock attended on the plain,
The shining bow he chanced to spy,
Which warns us when a shower is nigh.
This bumpkin had, it seems, been told
The story of the cup of gold,
Which, fame reports, is to be found
Just where the Rainbow meets the ground:
He therefore felt the sudden itch
To seize the goblet, and be rich;
Hoping, yet hopes are oft but vain,
No more to toil through wind and rain,
But sit indulging by the fire,
'Midst ease and plenty, like a squire.
He marked the very spot of land
On which the Rainbow seemed to stand,
And, stepping forward at his leisure,
Expected to have found the treasure:
But as he moved, the coloured ray
Still changed its place, and slipped away,
As seeming his approach to shun.
From walking he began to run;
But all in vain; it still withdrew
As nimbly as he could pursue.
At last, through many a bog and lake,
Rough craggy road and thorny brake,
It led the easy fool, till night
Approached, then vanished in his sight,
And left him to compute his gains,
With naught but labour for his pains.
LITTLE inmate, full of mirth,
Chirping on my kitchen hearth,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode,
Always harbinger of good;
Pay me for thy warm retreat,
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return, thou shalt receive
Such a strain as I can give.
Thus thy praise shall be exprest,
Inoffensive, welcome guest!
While the rat is on the scout,
And the mouse with curious snout,
With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best,
Frisking thus before the fire,
Thou hast all thine heart's desire.
Though in voice and shape they be
Formed as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are.
Theirs is but a summer's song,
Thine endures the winter long,
Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear
Melody throughout the year.
Neither night nor dawn of day
Puts a period to thy play.
EACH seems to say, "Come, let us try our speed;
Away they scour, impetuous, ardent, strong,
The green turf trembling as they bound along;
Adown the slope, then up the hillock climb,
Where every molehill is a bed of thyme;
There panting stop; yet scarcely can refrain ;
A bird, a leaf, will set them off again :
Or, if a gale with strength unusual blow,
Scatt'ring the wild-briar roses into snow,
Their little limbs increasing efforts try;
Like the torn flower, the fair assemblage fly.
THE MIGRATION OF THE GREY
WHEN in my youth I travelled,
Throughout each north countrie
Many a strange thing did I hear,
And many a strange thing see.
I sat with small men in their huts,
Built of the drifted snow;
No fire had we but the seal-oil lamp,
Nor other light did know.
For, far and wide the plains were lost
For months in the winter dark;
And we heard the growl of the hungry bear,
The beaver built his palaces;
And where the ermine ran.
And came where sailed the lonely swans,
Wild on their native flood;
And the shy elk grazed up the mossy hills,
And the wolf was in the wood.
And the frosty plains like diamonds shone,
And the iced rocks also,
There were hundreds, that in the hollow bolls
Of the old, old trees did dwell,
And laid up store hard-by their door,
Of the sweet mast as it fell.
But soon the hungry wild swine came
And with thievish snout dug up
Their buried treasure, and left them not
So much as an acorn cup!
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