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The open windows seeni'd t' invite
But Tom was still confin'd;
To leave his friend behind.
So settling on his cage, by play,
You must not live alone —
Oh ye, who never taste the joys
Fandango, ball, and rout!
THE NEEDLESS ALARM.
There is a field, through which I often pass,
VOL. II. x
Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
The Sun, accomplishing his early march,
Sheep graz'd the field; some with soft bosom
* Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq.
All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd, To me their peace by kind contagion spread.
But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz'd, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round again; But, recollecting with a sudden thought, That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought, They gather'd close around the old pit's brink, And thought again—but knew not what to think.
The man to solitude accustom'd long, Perceives in ev'ry thing that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees, Have speech for him, and understood with ease;After long drought, when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flow'rs rejoicing all; Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, How glad they catch the largess of the skies;
Bat, with precision nicer still, the mind He scans of ev'ry locomotive kind;Birds of all feather, beasts of ev'ry name, That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame;The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears Have all articulation in his ears; He spells them true by intuition's light, And needs no glossary to set him right.
This truth premis'd was needful as a text, To win due credence to what follows next.
Awhile they mus'd; surveying ev'ry face, Thou hadst suppos'd them of superior race; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd, Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind, That sage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, A ram, the ewes and wethers sad, address'd.
Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. Could I believe, that winds for ages pent In Earth's dark womb have found at last a vent,