And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade; To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. SHIRLEY. PRINCE LEBOO. FROM the mighty Pacific, with soft-swelling waves From China returning with silk and with tea, Ah! look how she heaves! on the rocks she is stranded! But the boats are thrown out, and the sailors are landed. What black men are those in their slender canoe, Who gaze with such wonder-The men of Pelew. How How kindly they welcome the sailors on shore! And yams and sweet cocoanuts bring from their store; But vain ev'ry effort to soften their anguish ! For home, distant home, the poor Englishmen languish ; They build a stout ship, they sail off from Pelew, And away with the strangers sails young Prince Leeboo. O what is his rapture, and what his surprise, When in gay busy London he opens his eyes! "Fine shops, houses, coaches, O joy beyond measure! Yes, yes, my dear friends shall partake in my pleasure: Fine clothes, coaches, horses, I'll bear to PelewWhat wonder for them, what delight for Leeboo!" Fond projects! In vain shall his father explore The wide shipless waves-he shall see him no more. O chide not the English thy darling detaining, And chide not thy son'mid the strangers remaining! Know, death has arrested him far from Pelew, And the strangers have wept o'er the gentle Leeboo! 110 The Winter Torrent. THE WINTER TORRENT. PROUD and foolish, noisy stream! Who to some muddy pool thy birth dost owe, Tho' now thou boast thy swelling tide, August will soon be here, and end thy shortliv'd pride. Thou foam'st and boil'st along the plain, The flocks and shepherds threat'ning by the way, Thro' borrow'd waters basely vain Lift'st up thy head, and dost regardless stray. No drop remain of thy proud swelling flood; Tread o'er the dusty sand, and spurn it with disdain! DRYDEN. HUNTING, Hunting the Hare. 111 HUNTING THE HARE. HARK! from yon covert, where those tow'ring oaks Above the humble copse aspiring rise, What glorious triumphs burst in ev'ry gale The pack wide op'ning load the trembling air And climbs th' adjacent hill; the plowman leaves Desert th' unpeopled village; and wild crowds 112 The Fairy's Song. THE FAIRY'S SONG. COME follow, follow me, When mortals are at rest Through key-holes we do glide; Then o'er a mushroom's head The diet that we eat; Pearly drops of dew we drink The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, Grace |