« ForrigeFortsett »
And ftedfast hate, and sharp affliction join'd, And fury uncontrould, and chattisement unkind.
Few but have ken’d, in semblance neet pourtray’d,
55 The childish faces of old Eol's train; Libs, Notus, Auster * : these in frowns array’d, How then would fare or carth, or sky, or main, Were the stern god to give bis slaves the rein ? And were not Me rebellious breaits to quell, 60 And were not me her statutes to maintain,
The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell, Wherecomely peace of mind, and decent order dwell.
A rusret stole was o'er her shoulders thrown ; A rufset kirtle fenc'd the nipping air ; 65 'Twas simple ruset, but it was her own ; 'Twas her own country bred the flock so fair ; "Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare ; And, footh to say, her pupils, rang'd around, Thro' pious awe, did term it passing rare; 79
For they in gaping wonderment abound, And think, no doubt, the been the greatest wight
Alheit ne fatt'ry did corrupt her truth,
* The south-welt, south, &c. &c.
Yet these she challeng'd, these she held right dear:
85 But there was eke a mind which did that title love.
One ancient hen she took delight to feed,
For well she knew, and quaintly could expound, What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb she found.
Herbs too she knew, and well of each could speak
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb;
Yet cuphrasy may not be left unsung,
And pungent radish, biting infant's tongue ; And plantain ribb’d, that heals the reaper's
wound; And marjra'm sweet, in shepherd's pofie found; And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom 105 Shall be ere-while, in arid bundles bound,
To lurk amidst the labours of her looin, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle rare
And here trim rosemarine, that whilom crown'd
Simplicity then fought this humble cell,
Here oft the dame, on sabbath's decent eve,
All, for the nonce, untuning ev'ry string, 125 Uphung their useless lyres--small heart had they
For she was just, and friend to virtuous lore,
And lawny saints in smould'ring flames did burn: Ah! dearest lord, forefend, thilk days should c'er return.
In elbow-chair, like that of Scottih sem,
140 (The source of children's and of courtier's pride!) Redress'd affronts, for vile affronts there pass'd;
And warned them not the fretful to deride, But love cach other dear, whatever them betide.
Right well she knew each temper to descry; 145
And other some with baleful sprig se 'frays: Ev'n absent, she the reins of pow'r doth hold, 150 While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways;
Forewarn’d, if little bird their pranks behold, 'Twill whisper in her ear, and all the scene unfold.
Lo now with state the utters the command !
On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been, Kens the forth-coming rod, unpleasing fight, I ween!
Ah luckless he, and born beneath the beam
And down they drop; appears his dainty skin, 170 Fair as the furry coat of whitelt ermilin.
O ruthful scene! when, from a nook ob cure, His little sister doth his peril see,