Still is the toiling hand of Care; Yet hark, how through the peopled air The insect youth are on the wing, To Contemplation's sober eye And they that creep, and they that fly, Alike the busy and the gay But flutter through life's little day, Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive, kind reply: Poor moralist! and what art thou? Thy joys no glittering female meets, On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; ODE II. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes. 'TWAS on a lofty vase's side, The pensive Selima, reclined, Her conscious tail her joy declared ; Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Still had she gaz'd; but 'midst the tide The hapless nymph with wonder saw : A whisker first and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize. What female heart can gold despise? What cat's averse to fish? Presumptuous maid! with looks intent Eight times emerging from the flood No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, From hence, ye beauties, undeceived, Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold. Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes, And heedless hearts, is lawful prize ; Nor all that glisters gold. ODE III. ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. *Ανθρωπος ἱκανὴ πρόφασις εἰς τὸ δυστυχεῖν. MENANDER. YE distant spires, ye antique towers, Where grateful Science still adores And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way! Ah happy rills! ah pleasing shade! Where once my careless childhood stray'd A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye A momentary bliss bestow, blow As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, M Say, Father Thames, (for thou hast seen To chase the rolling circle's speed, While some, on earnest business bent, 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, The thoughtless day, the easy night, |