Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone

We frolic while 'tis May.

ON THE

DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT,

Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes.

[IBID.]
'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dy'd

The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclin’d,

Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw; and purrd applause.

Still had she gaz'd; but ʼmidst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view

Betray'd a golden gleam.

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 çan gold despise ?

What Cat's averse to fish ?

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulph between : (Malignant Fate sat by and smild) The slipp'ry verge her feet beguild,

She tumbled headlong in,

Eight times emerging from the flood,
She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry god,

Some speedy aid to send.
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stir'd:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard,

A Fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceivd,
Know one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize ;

Nor all that glitters, gold.

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON

COLLEGE.

(1BID.]
YE
E distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the wat’ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores

Her Henry's holy shade;
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 hills! ah, pleasing shade!

Ah, fields beloy'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to sooth,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.

Say, Father THAMES, for thou hast seen

Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green

The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy, wave?

The captive linnet which enthrall ?
What idle

progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed,

Or urge the flying ball?

While some on earnest business bent,

Their murm’ring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy..

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,

Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxom Health, of rosy hue, Wild Wit, Invention ever-new,

And lively Cheer, of Vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light,

That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom

The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day:
Yet see, how all around 'em wait
The Ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train ! Ah, shew them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band !

Ah, tell them they are men !