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; Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; 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, Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roll'd All night, me resting quiet in the fold. But ah! those dreadful yells what soul can hear, Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. How? leap into the pit our life to save? To save our life leap all into the grave? For can we find it less? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there we burst; Or should the brambles, interpos'd, our fall Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear, We have at least commodious standing here; Come, fiend, come, fury, giant, monster, blast From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last. While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals, For Reynard, close attended at his heels, By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse, Through mere good fortune, took a diff'rent course. The flock grew calm again, and I, the road Following that led me to my own abode, Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found Such cause of terror in an empty sound, So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound. MORAL. Beware of desp'rate steps. The darkest day (Left till to-morrow) will have pass'd away. THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. NO FABLE. THE noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's silent tide, When, scap'd from literary cares, I wander'd on his side. My spaniel, prettiest of his race, And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs,' adorn'd with ev'ry grace, That spaniel found for me) Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, Now starting into sight Pursued the swallow o'er the meads It was the time when Ouse display'd His lilies newly blown; Their beauties I intent survey'd, With cane extended far I sought To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escap'd my eager hand. P Sir Robert Gunning's daughters. |