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He roared approaching; but the savage din To plaintive murmurs changed,—arrived within, And with expressive looks, his lifted paw Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw. 10 The fugitive, through terror at a stand, Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand;But bolder grown, at length inherent found A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound. The cure was wrought; he wiped the sanious blood, And firm and free from pain the lion stood. Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day Regales his inmate with the parted prey;Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared, Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared. 20 But thus to live—still lost—sequestered still— Scarce seemed his lord's revenge a heavier ill. Home! native home! oh might he but repair!He must, he will, though death attends him there. He goes, and doomed to perish, on the sands Of the full theatre unpitied stands;When lo! the self-same lion from his cage Flies to devour him, famished into rage. He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey The man, his healer, pauses on his way, 30 And, softened by remembrance into sweet And kind composure, crouches at his feet.
Mute with astonishment the assembly gaze:
MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING, AND NOT TO BE
There is a book, which we may call
(Its excellence is such) Alone a library, though small;
The ladies thumb it much. Words none, things numerous, it contains;
And, things with words compared,
Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue A golden edging boast;
Twelve pages at the most.
Nor name, nor title, stamped behind,
Adorns its outer part;
A magazine of art.
The whitest hands that secret hoard
Oft visit; and the fair
As with a miser's care.
Thence implements of every size,
The largest and the longest kind
Possess the foremost page,
Or nearly such from age.
The full-charged leaf, which next ensues,
Presents in bright array
The third, the fourth, the fifth supply
What their occasions ask, Who with a more discerning eye
Perform a nicer task.
But still with regular decrease
From size to size they fall,
The last are least of all.
Oh ! what a fund of genius, pent In narrow space, is here!This volume's method and intent How luminous and clear!
It leaves no reader at a loss
(Jr posed, whoever reads:No commentator's tedious gloss, Nor even index needs.
Search Bodley's many thousands o'er!
No book is treasured there, Nor yet in Granta's numerous store,
That may with this compare.
No !—rival none in either host
Of this was ever seen,
So brilliant and so keen.
Which kindly given, may serve with food
Hopping and chirping, close at hand,
As in her ancient mistress' lap
The youthful Tabby lay,
Alike disposed to play.
But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm,
And with protruded claws
Mere wantonness the cause.
At once, resentful of the deed,
With many a threat that she shall bleed
But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest;
It was a venial stroke:
Should bear a kitten's joke.
INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST.
Sweet bird, whom the Winter constrains—
And seldom another it can—
In the well-sheltered dwellings of man,
Though in all places equally free,
Thou art sure to be welcome to me.
At sight of the first feeble ray
That pierces the clouds of the east,
My windows shall show thee a feast;
Thee mindful of benefit long,
Thou wilt pay me with many a song.
Then soon as the swell of the buds
Bespeaks the renewal of Spring,
Or where it shall please thee to sing:
Come again to my window or door,
Only pay, as thou payedst me before.
Thus music must needs be confest
To flow from a fountain above;
Unchangeable friendship and love?
Save your generation and ours,
Or boasts any musical powers?
TllK shepherd touched his reed ; sweet Philomel
And treasuring, as on her ear they fell,
The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before
And soon (for various was his tuneful store)
She dared the task, and rising, as he rose,
Returned the sounds awhile, but in the close,
Thus strength, not skill, prevailed. O fatal strife,
And oh, sad victory, which cost thy life,
ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY
WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1728.
Ancient dame, how wide and vast,
Rounded to an orb at last,
We, the herd of human kind,
We, to narrow bounds confined,
Death's delicious banquet, we
Swifter than a shadow flee,
Nourished but to feed the tomb.
Seeds of merciless disease
Lurk in all that we enjoy;
Some that suddenly destroy.
And if life o'erleap the bourn
What remains, but that we mourn,
Fast as moons can wax and wane,
Pant with anguish and complain,
If a few (to few 'tis given), Lingering on this earthly stage,
Creep and halt with steps uneven
Wherefore live they, but to see
Oft was seen, in ages past,
All that we with wonder view;
Often shall be to the last;
Thee we gratulate; content
Should propitious Heaven design
Life for us, as calmly spent, Though but half the length of thine.
THE CAUSE WON.
Two neighbours furiously dispute;
A field the subject of the suit.
Trivial the spot, yet such the rage
With which the combatants engage,
'Twere hard to tell, who covets most
The prize—at whatsoever cost.
The pleadings swell. Words still suffice;
No single word but has its price:
No term but yields some fair pretence
For novel and increased expense.
Defendant thus becomes a name Which he that bore it may disclaim; Since both, in one description blended, Are plaintiffs—when the suit is ended.
The beams of April, ere it goes,
Careless around him and around,