Now that posture is not right, And he is not settled quite
There! that's better than before, And the knave pretends to snore!
Ha! he is not half asleep! See, he slyly takes a peep! Monkey, though your eyes were shut, You could see this little nut.
You shall have it, pigmy brother! What, another? and another? Nay, your cheeks are like a sack,- Sit down and begin to crack.
There, the little ancient man Cracks as fast as crack he can! Now, good bye, you merry fellow, Nature's primest punchinello!
WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE TAKEN IN CHILDHOOD.
My early days, my early days,
Ye morning stars that linger yet; And beam as dear departing rays, When every other star has set:
Spray of the ocean of my life, Blossom of fruit all faded now; Ye golden sands in old Time's glass, Ye green leaves on a wither'd bough;
Oh! where are ye, and where am I? Where is that happy sinless child, That chased the gaudy butterfly, As gay as that, and far more wild?
Am I that bold and fearless boy,
That stemm'd the flood and climb'd the height? All health and truth, all life and joy, First in the frolic or the fight.
Ah! no-where once the sunlight shone, I wander now amid the shade; The hopes that led my boyhood on, Are wither'd all, or all betray'd.
'I cannot bear to gaze again,
On visions that could fade so fast; Nor 'mid a present scene of pain, Cast back a thought on blisses past.
REMEMBRANCE.
MAN hath a weary pilgrimage, As through the world he wends; On every stage from youth to age Still discontent attends;
With heaviness he casts his eye Upon the road before,
And still remembers with a sigh The days that are no more.
To school the little exile goes, Torn from his mother's arms,- What then shall soothe his earliest woes, When novelty hath lost its charms? Condemn'd to suffer through the day Restraints which no rewards repay,
And cares where love has no concern, Hope lightens as he counts the hours That hasten his return.
From hard control and tyrant rules,
The unfeeling discipline of schools,
The child's sad thoughts will roam; And tears will struggle in his eye, While he remembers with a sigh, The comforts of his home.
Youth comes: the toils and cares of life Torment the restless mind;
Where shall the tired and harass'd heart Its consolation find?
Then is not Youth, as Fancy tells, Life's summer prime of joy? Ah, no! for hopes too long delay'd, And feelings blasted or betray'd, The fabled bliss destroy; And he remembers with a sigh, The careless days of infancy.
Maturer manhood now arrives, And other thoughts come on, But with the baseless hopes of youth Its generous warmth is gone; Cold calculating cares succeed, The timid thought, the wary deed, The dull realities of truth; Back on the past he turns his eye, Remembering with an envious sigh The happy dreams of youth.
So reaches he the latter stage Of this our mortal pilgrimage, With feeble steps and slow; New ills that latter stage await, And old Experience learns, too late, That all is vanity below.
Life's vain delusions are gone by, Its idle hopes are o'er,
Yet Age remembers with a sigh, The days that are no more.
SPIDER! thou need'st not run in fear about To shun my curious eyes,
I wont humanely crush thy bowels out Lest thou shouldst eat the flies,- Nor will I roast thee with a fierce delight Thy strange instinctive fortitude to see, For there is one who might
Thou 'rt welcome to a Rhymer sore perplex'd, The subject of his verse:
There's many a one who on a better text Perhaps might comment worse:
Then shrink not, old Free-mason, from my view, But quietly like me spin out the line; Do thou thy work pursue
Weaver of snares, thou emblemest the ways Of Satan, sire of lies;
Hell's huge black Spider, for mankind he lays His toils as thou for flies.
When Betty's busy eye runs round the room, Woe to that nice geometry, if seen! But where is he whose broom
The earth shall clean?
Spider! of old thy flimsy webs were thought, And 't was a likeness true,
To emblem laws in which the weak are caught, But which the strong break through; And if a victim in thy toils is ta'en,
Like some poor client is that wretched fly- I'll warrant thee thou 'lt drain
And is not thy weak work like human schemes And care on earth employ'd?
Such are young hopes and Love's delightful dreams, So easily destroy'd!
So does the Statesman, while the Avengers sleep, Self-deem'd secure, his wiles in secret lay; Soon shall Destruction sweep
Thou busy labourer! one resemblance more Shall yet the verse prolong,
For Spider, thou art like the Poet poor, Whom thou hast help'd in song. Both busily our needful food to win,
We work, as Nature taught, with ceaseless pains, Thy bowels thou dost spin, I spin my brains.
THE LION.
LION, thou art girt with might! King by uncontested right; Strength, and majesty, and pride Are in thee personified!
Slavish doubt or timid fear Never came thy spirit near; What is it to fly, or bow
To a mightier than thou,
Never has been known to thee,
Creature terrible and free!
Power the Mightiest, gave the Lion, Sinews like to brands of iron; Gave him force which never fail'd; Gave a heart that never quail'd. Triple-mailed coat of steel,
Plates of brass from head to heel, Less defensive were in wearing Than the Lion's heart of daring; Nor could towers of strength impart, Trust like that which keeps his heart.
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