Nought will avail the pity-pleading eye,
For our good squire doth much against you rail,
And saith you often magic arts do try;
At times you wave Grimalkin's sooty tail,
Or on a beesom vild you through the welkin sail.
The stag is roused; he stems the threatening flood
That shall ere long his matchless swiftness quell;
And, to avoid the tumult of the wood,
Among his well known pheers* attempts to mell+:
With horn and hoof his purpose they repel.
Thus, should a maid from virtue's lore ystray,
Your sex, my Daphne, show their vengeance fell;
Your cruel selves with gall the shaft embay‡,
And lash from pardon's shrine the penitent away.
Now silence charms the sages of the gown,
To purer air doth speed each crafty wight;
The well squeezed client quits the dusty town,
Grown gray in the asserting of his right;
With head yfraught with law, and pockets light,
Well pleased he wanders o'er the fallow lea,
And views each rural object with delight.
Ne'er be my lot the brawling courts to see;
Who trusts to lawyer's tongue doth much mis-
ween §, perdy.
Right bless'd the man who, free from bitter bale ||, Doth in the little peaceful hamlet dwell,
No loud contention doth his ears assail,
Save when the tempest whistles o'er his cell;
The fruitful down, the flower-depainted dell,
To please his eyne are variously array'd;
And when in roundelay his flame he'd tell,
He gains a smile from his beloved maid;
By such a gentle smile an age of pain's repaid.
THE little brook that erst my cot did lave,
And o'er its flinty pavement sweetly sung,
Doth now forget to roll her wanton wave,
For winter hoar her icy chain has flung,
And stilled the babbling music of her tongue.
The lonely woodcock seeks the splashy glen,
Each mountain head with fleecy snow is hung,
The snipe and duck enjoy the moorish fen,
Like eremites they live, and shun the sight of
The wareless+ sheep no longer bite the mead,
No more the ploughboy turns the stubborn ground;
At the full crib the horned labourers feed,
Their nostrils cast black clouds of smoke around;
A squalid coat doth the lean steed surround;
The wily fox doth prowl abroad for prey,
Reckless of snares or of the' avenging hound;
And trusty Lightfoot, now no longer gay,
Sleeps at the kitchen hearth his cheerless hours
Where erst the boat and slowly moving barge Did with delight cut through the dimpling plain, Now wanton boys and men do roam at large; The rivergods quit their usurped domain,
And of the wrong at Neptune's court complain. There mote you see mild Avon crown'd with flowers,
And milky Wey withouten spot or stain;
There the fair stream that washes Hampton's
[towers. And Isis who with pride beholds her learned
Intent on sport, the ever jocund throng
Quit their warm cots and for the game prepare;
Behold the restless football whirls along,
Now near the earth, now mounted high in air.
Thus often men in life's wild lottery fare,
Who quit true bliss to grasp an empty toy.
Our honest swains for wealth nor titles care,
But lusty health in exercise employ,
The distant village hears the rude tumultuous joy.
The careful hedger looks the fields around
To see what labour may his skill demand;
He mends the fence, repairs the sinking mound,
Or in long drains he cuts the lower land,
That shall henceforth all sudden floods withstand.
Meanwhile at home his dame, with silver hair,
Doth sit encircled by a goodly band
Of lovely maids, who various works prepare, All chaste as Jove's wise child, as Cupid's mo ther fair.
She them discourses not of fashions nice,
Nor of the trilling notes which eunuchs sing,
Allurements vain that prompt the soul to vice!
Ne tells she them of Kesar or of king;
Too great the subject for so mean a ring.
Her lessons teach to swell the capon's size;
To make the hen a numerous offspring bring;
Or how the wayward mother to chastise,
When from her vetchy nest the weetless vagrant
When glittering spangles deck the robe of night,
And all their kine in pens avoid the cold;
The buxom troops, still eager of delight,
Round Damon's eyne a drapet* white infold,
He darkling gropes til' he some one can hold.
Next Corin hides his head, and must impart
What wanton fair one smote his hand so bold.
He Delia names, nor did from truth depart;
For well he knew her touch who long had fired
his heart.
Stay, I conjure you by your hopes of bliss,
Trust not, my Daphne, the rough-biting air ;
Let not rude winds those lips of softness kiss;
Will Eurus stern the charms of beauty spare?
No, he will hurt my rosy-featured fair,
If aught so bright dares rugged carle invade,
Too tender thou such rough assaults to bear;
The mountain ash may stand though stripp'd of
shade,
But at the slightest wound the silken flower will fade.
+ Mendez, who was the intimate friend of Thomson, was of a Jewish family, and was born in London. He took the degree of M. A. at Oxford, in 1750. Unlike poets in general, Mendez was one of the favourites of Fortune, and he died worth a hundred thousand pounds.
WHILE thus the imprison'd leaves and waking flowers
Burst from their tombs, the birds that lurk'd unseen
Amid the hybernal shade, in busy tribes
Pour their forgotten multitudes, and catch
New life, new rapture from the smile of Spring.
The oak's dark canopy, the moss-grown thorns
Flutter with hurried pinions, and resound
With notes that suit a forest; some, perchance,
Rude singly, yet with sweeter notes combined
In unison harmonious; notes that speak,
In language vocal to the listening wood,
The fears and hopes, the griefs and joys that heave
The feather'd breast. Proud of cerulean stains,
From heaven's unsullied arch purloin'd, the jay
Screams hoarse. With shrill and oft repeated cry,
Her angular course, alternate rise and fall,
The woodpecker prolongs; then to the trunk
Close clinging with unwearied beak assails
The hollow bark through every cell the strokes
Roll the dire echoes that from wintry sleep
Awake her insect prey; the' alarmed tribes
Start from each chink that bores the mouldering
[foe
Their scatter'd flight with lengthening tongue the
Pursues; joy glistens on her verdant plumes,
And brighter scarlet sparkles on her crest.
From bough to bough the restless magpie roves,
And chatters as she flies. In sober brown
Dress'd, but with nature's tenderest pencil touch'd,
|