Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

38

The Lion and the Fawns.

At first within the yard confin'd,
He flies and hides from all mankind;
Now bolder grown, with fixt amaze
And distant awe, presumes to gaze;
Munches the linen on the lines,
And on a hood or apron dines:
He steals my little master's bread,
Follows the servants to be fed :
Nearer and nearer now he stands,
To feel the praise of patting hands;
Examines ev'ry fist for meat,

And, though repuls'd, disdains retreat;
Attacks again with levell'd horns,
And man, that was his terror, scorns.

THE LION AND THE FAWNS.

GAY,

WHEN the grim lion ranging o'er the lawns Finds, on some grassy lare, the couching fawns, 'Their bones he cracks, their reeking vitals draws, And grinds the quiv'ring flesh with bloody jaws.

The

The Deer and Savage Beasts.

39

The frighted hind beholds, and dares not stay, But swift thro' rustling thickets bursts her way; All drown'd in sweat, the panting mother flies, And the big tears roll trickling from her eyes.

POPE'S HOMER.

THE DEER AND SAVAGE BEASTS.

WHEN the keen huntsman with a flying spear
From the blind thicket wounds a stately deer,
Down his cleft side while fresh the blood distills,
He bounds aloft, and scuds from hills to hills;
Till life's warm vapour issuing thro' the wound,
Wild mountain wolves the fainting beast surround.
Just as their jaws his prostrate limbs invade,
The lion rushes thro' the woodland shade:
The wolves, tho' hungry, scour dispers'd away;
The lordly savage vindicates his prey.

[blocks in formation]

40

The Ass.-Harvest.

THE ASS.

THE tardy ass, with heavy strength endued,
In a wide field by troops of boys pursued,
Tho' round his sides a wooden tempest rain,
Crops the wide harvest, and lays waste the plain.
Thick on his side the hollow blows resound:
The patient animal maintains his ground,
Scarce from the field with all their efforts chas'd,
And stirs but slowly when he stirs at last.
POPE'S HOMER.

HARVEST.

THE russet field rose high with waving grain ; With bended sickles stand the reaper train; Here, stretch'd in ranks the levell'd swarths are found,

Sheaves heap'd on sheaves here thicken up the ground.

With sweeping stroke the mowers strow the lands; The gath'rers follow, and collect in bands;

And last the children, in whose arms are borne (Too short to gripe them) the brown sheaves of

corn.

The

The Piedmontese and his Marmot.

The rustic monarch of the field descries

41

With silent glee the heaps around him rise.
A ready banquet on the turf is laid;
Beneath an ample oak's extended shade
The victim ox the sturdy youth prepare;
The reapers' due repast, the women's care:
POPE'S HOMER.

THE PIEDMONTESE AND HIS MARMOT.

FROM my dear native moorlands, for many a day
Thro' fields and thro' cities I've wander'd away.
Tho' I merrily sing, yet forlorn is my lot;
I'm a poor Piedmontese, and I show a marmot.
This pretty marmot in a mountain's steep side
Made a burrow, himself and his young ones to hide.
The bottom they cover'd with moss and with hay,
And stopp'd up the entrance, and snugly they lay.
They carelessly slept till the cold winter blast
And the hail, and the deep drifting snow-shower

was past;

But the warbling of April awak'd them again
To crop the young plants and to frisk on the plain.:

E 3

Then

[blocks in formation]

Then I caught this poor fellow and taught him to dance,

And we liv'd by his tricks as we rambled thro' France.

But he droops and grows drowsy as onward we

roam,

And he and his master both pine for their home.
Let your charity then hasten back to his cot
The poor Piedmontese with his harmless marmot..

ORIGINAL,

MOONLIGHT.

WHEN the fair moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O'er heav'n's clear azure spreads her sacred light;
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole,
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver ev'ry mountain's head.
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.
POPE'S HOMER.

« VorigeDoorgaan »