Εικόνες σελίδας
PDF
Ηλεκτρ. έκδοση

LXI

THE MOUSE'S PETITION

Oh, hear a pensive prisoner's prayer,
For liberty that sighs;

And never let thine heart be shut
Against the wretch's cries!

For here forlorn and sad I sit,
Within the wiry grate;

And tremble at the approaching morn,
Which brings impending fate.

If e'er thy breast with freedom glowed,
And spurned a tyrant's chain,
Let not thy strong oppressive force
A free-born mouse detain !

Oh, do not stain with guiltless blood
Thy hospitable hearth!

Nor triumph that thy wiles betrayed
A prize so little worth.

The scattered gleanings of a feast
My frugal meals supply;
But if thy unrelenting heart
That slender boon deny,—

The cheerful light, the vital air,
Are blessings widely given;
Let Nature's commoners enjoy

The common gifts of heaven.

Beware, lest in the worm you crush,
A brother's soul you find;

And tremble lest thy luckless hand
Dislodge a kindred mind.

Or if this transient gleam of day
Be all the life we share,
Let pity plead within thy breast,
That little all to spare.

So may thy hospitable board

With health and peace be crowned; And every charm of heartfelt ease Beneath thy roof be found.

So when destruction works unseen,
Which man, like mice, may share,
May some kind angel clear thy path,
And break the hidden snare.

LXII

A. L. Barbauld

THE GRASSHOPPER

Happy insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill;
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
Nature's self's thy Ganymede.

Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing,
Happier than the happiest king!

All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee,
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice :
Man for thee does sow and plough;
Farmer he and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently joy,

Nor does thy luxury destroy.

The shepherd gladly heareth thee,

More harmonious than he.

Thee, country minds with gladness hear,

Prophet of the ripened year:

Thee Phoebus loves and does inspire;

Phoebus is himself thy sire.

To thee of all things upon earth,

Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect! happy thou,

Dost neither age nor winter know :

But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung

Thy fill, the flowery leaves among

(Voluptuous and wise withal,

Epicurean animal)

Sated with the summer feast

Thou retir'st to endless rest.

A. Cowley

LXIII

THE SHEPHERD'S HOME

My banks they are furnished with bees,
Whose murmur invites one to sleep;

My grottoes are shaded with trees,

And my hills are white over with sheep.

I seldom have met with a loss,

Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets blow

Not a pine in the grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
Not a beech's more beautiful green,

But a sweet-briar entwines it around.
Not my fields in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold ;
Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.

I have found out a gift for my fair,

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed ; But let me such plunder forbear,

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed; For he ne'er could be true, she averred,

Who would rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue. W. Shenstone

LXIV

THE LORD OF BURLEIGH

In her ear he whispers gaily,
'If my heart by signs can tell,
Maiden, I have watched thee daily,
And I think thou lov'st me well.'
She replies, in accents fainter,
'There is none I love like thee.'
He is but a landscape painter,
And a village maiden she.

He to lips that fondly falter,
Presses his without reproof;
Leads her to the village altar,
And they leave her father's roof.
'I can make no marriage present;
Little can I give my wife :

Love will make our cottage pleasant,
And I love thee more than life.'
They by parks and lodges going,
See the lordly castles stand:
Summer woods about them blowing,
Made a murmur in the land.
From deep thought himself he rouses,
Says to her that loves him well,
'Let us see these handsome houses
Where the wealthy nobles dwell.'
So she goes, by him attended,
Hears him lovingly converse,
Sees whatever fair and splendid

Lay betwixt his home and hers;
Parks with oak and chestnut shady,
Parks and ordered gardens great,
Ancient homes of lord and lady,

Built for pleasure and for state.
All he shows her makes him dearer :
Evermore she seems to gaze
On that cottage growing nearer,

Where they twain will spend their days. O, but she will love him truly!

He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly,

When beneath his roof they come.

Thus her heart rejoices greatly,

Till a gateway she discerns.

« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »