A Library of Poetry and Song: Being Choice Selections from the Best Poets

Yet wanting sensibility) the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarned,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,

Shall he add torment to the bondage that is galling his forfeit serfs ?

The leader in nature's pæan himself hath marred her psaltery,

Shall he multiply the din of discord by overstraining all the strings?

The rebel hath fortified his stronghold, shutting in his vassals with him,

Shall he aggravate the woes of the besieged by oppression from within?

Thou twice-deformed image of thy Maker, thou hateful representative of Love,

For very shame be merciful, be kind unto the creatures thou hast ruined;

Earth and hermillion tribes are cursed for thy sake, Earth and her million tribes still writhe bencath thy cruelty:

Liveth there but one among the million that shall not bear witness against thee,

And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, A pensioner of land or air or sea that hath not

A visitor unwelcome, into scenes

Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,
The chamber, or refectory, may die :
A necessary act incurs no blame.

Not so when, held within their proper bounds,
And guiltless of offence, they range the air,
Or take their pastime in the spacious field:
There they are privileged; and he that hunts
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,
Who, when she formed, designed them an abode
The sum is this: If man's convenience, health,
Or safety interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.
Else they are all the meanest things that are
As free to live, and to enjoy that life,
As God was free to form them at the first,
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
To love it too.

whereof it will accuse thee?

From the elephant toiling at a launch, to the

shrew-mouse in the harvest-field, From the whale which the harpooner hath stricken, to the minnow caught upon a pin, From the albatross wearied in its flight, to the wren in her covered nest, From the death-moth and lace-winged dragon-fly, to the lady-bird and the guat, The verdict of all things is unanimous, finding their master cruel :

The dog, thy humble friend, thy trusting, honest friend;

The ass, thine uncomplaining slave, drudging from morn to even;

The lamb, and the timorous hare, and the laboring ox at plough;

The speckled trout basking in the shallow, and the partridge gleaming in the stubble, And the stag at bay, and the worm in thy path, and the wild bird pining in captivity, And all things that minister alike to thy life and thy comfort and thy pride, Testify with one sad voice that man is a cruel

For meat, but not by wantonness of slaying: for | E'er ploughed for him.

high,

They too are tempered

burden, but with limits of humanity; For luxury, but not through torture: for draught, | With hunger stung and wild necessity; Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast.

but according to the strength :

For a dog cannot plead his own right, nor render But man, whom Nature formed of milder clay,
With every kind emotion in his heart,
Nor give a soft answer unto wrath, to turn aside | And taught alone to weep,

a reason for exemption,

the undeserved lash;

The galled ox cannot complain, nor supplicate a moment's respite;

The spent horse hideth his distress, till he panteth out his spirit at the goal;

while from her lap She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs, And fruits as numerous as the drops of rain Or beams that gave them birth, — shall he, fair form!

Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven, Also, in the winter of life, when worn by constant E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, toil, And dip his tongue in gore? The beast of prey, If ingratitude forget his services, he cannot bring Blood-stained, deserves to bleed; but you, ye them to remembrance;

flocks,

Behold, he is faint with hunger; the big tear What have ye done? ye peaceful people, what,
standeth in his eye;
To merit death? you who have given us milk
His skin is sore with stripes, and he tottereth In luscious streams, and leut us your own coat

beneath his burden;

Against the winter's cold? And the plain ox,

His limbs are stiff with age, his sinews have lost That harmless, honest, guileless animal,

In what has he offended? he whose toil,

their vigor, And pain is stamped upon his face, while he Patient and ever-ready, clothes the land

wrestleth unequally with toil;

With all the pomp of harvest, shall he bleed,

Yet once more mutely and meekly endureth he And struggling groan beneath the cruel hand,

the crushing blow;

That struggle hath cracked his heart-strings,

the generous brute is dead!

Liveth there no advocate for him? no judge to

avenge his wrongs?

No voice that shall be heard in his defence? no sentence to be passed on his oppressor? Yea, the sad eye of the tortured pleadeth pathetically for him;

Yea, all the justice in heaven is roused in indignation at his woes;

Yea, all the pity upon earth shall call down a

curse upon the cruel;

Yea, the burning malice of the wicked is their own exceeding punishment.

The Angel of Mercy stoppeth not to comfort, but passeth by on the other side,

THE point of honor has been deemed of use,
To teach good manners, and to curb abuse;
Admit it true, the consequence is clear,
Our polished manners are a mask we wear,
And, at the bottom, barbarous still and rude,
We are restrained, indeed, but not subdued.
The very remedy, however sure,

Springs from the mischief it intends to cure,

And hath no tear to shed, when a cruel man is And savage in its principle appears, damned.

MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER.

PLEA FOR THE ANIMALS.

FROM "THE SEASONS."
ENSANGUINED man

Is now become the lion of the plain,
And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold
Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne er drunk her
milk,

Nor wore her warming fleece; nor has the steer,
At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs,

Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears.
'Tis hard, indeed, if nothing will defend
Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end;
That now and then a hero must decease,
That the surviving world may live in peace.
Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show
The practice dastardly and mean and low;
That men engage in it compelled by force,
And fear, not courage, is its proper source;
The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear
Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer;
At least, to trample on our Maker's laws,
And hazard life for any or no cause,
To rush into a fixed eternal state
Out of the very flames of rage and hate,

Or send another shivering to the bar
With all the guilt of such unnatural war,
Whatever Use may urge, or Honor plead,
On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed.
Am I to set my life upon a throw
Because a bear is rude and surly? No, -
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man
Will not affront me; and no other can.
Were I empowered to regulate the lists,
They should encounter with well-loaded fists;
A Trojan combat would be something new,
Let Darcs beat Entellus black and blue;
Then cach might show, to his admiring friends,
In honorable bumps his rich amends,
And carry, in contusions of his skull,
A satisfactory receipt in full.

GOLD.

WILLIAM COWPER.

FROM THE BOROUGH."

All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill;
And twenty names of cobblers turned to squires
Aid the bold language of these blushless liars.
There are among them those who cannot read,
And yet they'll buy a patent, and succeed;
Will dare to promise dying sufferers aid,
For who, when dead, can threaten or upbraid?
With cruel avarice still they recommend
More draughts, more syrup, to the journey's end.
I feel it not.". 64
Then take it every hour."
"It makes me worse."-"Why, then it shows
its power."
"I fear to die.". "Let not your spirits sink,
You 're always safe while you believe and drink."
How strange to add, in this nefarious trade,
That men of parts are dupes by dunces made:
That creatures nature meant should clean our
streets

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

No class escapes them—from the poor man's pay

BUT now our Quacks are gamesters, and they The nostrum takes no trifling part away;

play

With craft and skill to ruin and betray;

See! those square patent bottles from the shop Now decoration to the cupboard's top;

And there a favorite hoard you'll find within, Companions meet! the julep and the gin.

Suppose the case surpasses human skill, There comes a quack to flatter weakness still; What greater evil can a flatterer do,

Than from himself to take the sufferer's view? To turn from sacred thoughts his reasoning powers,

And rob a sinner of his dying hours?

Yet this they dare, and, craving to the last,
In hope's strong bondage hold their victim
fast:

For soul or body no concern have they,
All their inquiry, "Can the patient pay?
And will he swallow draughts until his dying
day?"

Observe what ills to nervous females flow,
When the heart flutters and the pulse is low;
If once induced these cordial sips to try,
All feel the ease, and few the danger fly;

THE RULING PASSION.

FROM "MORAL ESSAYS."

In this one passion man can strength enjoy,
As fits give vigor just when they destroy.
Time, that on all things lays his lenient hand,
Yet tames not this; it sticks to our last sand.
Consistent in our follies and our sins,
Here honest Nature ends as she begins.

Old politicians chew on wisdom past,
And totter on in business to the last;
As weak, as carnest; and as gravely out,
As sober Lanesb'row dancing in the gout.

Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace
Has made the father of a nameless race,
Shoved from the wall perhaps, or rudely pressed
By his own son, that passes by unblessed :
Still to his wench he crawls on knocking knees,
And envies every sparrow that he sees.

A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate. The doctor called, declares all help too late.

For, while obtained, of drams they 've all the "Mercy!" cries Helluo, "mercy on my soul;

force,

And when denied, then drams are the resource. Who would not lend a sympathizing sigh,

To hear yon infant's pity-moving cry?

Is there no hope? - Alas!- then bring the jowl."
The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend,
Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end,
Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires,

Then the good nurse (who, had she borne a For one puff more, and in that puff expires.

brain,

Had sought the cause that made her babe com

plain)

Has all her efforts, loving soul! applied
To set the cry, and not the cause, aside;
She gave her powerful sweet without remorse,
The sleeping cordial, she had tried its force,
Repeating oft; the infant, freed from pain,
Rejected food, but took the dose again,
Sinking to sleep, while she her joy expressed,
That her dear charge could sweetly take his rest.
Soon may she spare her cordial; not a doubt
Remains but quickly he will rest without.

What then our hopes?—perhaps there may by law

Be method found these pests to curb and awe ;
Yet, in this land of freedom, law is slack
With any being to commence attack :
Then let us trust to science, there are those
Who can their falsehoods and their frauds dis-

"Odious! in woollen! 't would a saint pro

ALEXANDER POPE.

THE FICKLE MOB.

" FROM CORIOLANUS."

CAIUS MARCIUS. What would you have, you

curs,

That like not peace, nor war? the one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ;

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

breath I hate

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

CORIOLANUS. You common cry of curs! whose The Dog-star rages! nay, 't is past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide!
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they
glide,

As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air,-I banish you;
And here remain with your uncertainty !
Let every feeble rumor shake your hearts!
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,
Fan you into despair! Have the power still
To banish your defenders; till at length,
Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,)
Making but reservation of yourselves,
(Still your own foes,) deliver you, as most
Abated captives, to some nation
That won you without blows! Despising,
For you, the city, thus I turn my back :
There is a world elsewhere.

By land, by water, they renew the charge,
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is sacred, not the church is free,
Even Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me:
Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme,
Happy! to catch me, just at dinner-time.

Is there a parson much be-mused in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,

A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza, when he should engross?
Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls
With desperate charcoal round his darkened walls?
All fly to Twic'NAM, and in humble strain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped,
If foes, they write, —if friends, they read me dead
Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I!
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie:
To laugh were want of goodness and of grace,
And to be grave exceeds all power of face.
I sit with sad civility, I read

With honest anguish and an aching head;
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,
This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years."

"Nine years!" cries he who high in Drury Lane, Lulled by soft zephyrs through the broken pane, Rhymes ere he wakes, andprints before Term ends, Obliged by hunger, and request of friends. "The piece, you think, is incorrect? why, take it,

« 이전 계속 »

도서