ODES. I. ON THE SPRING. Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How indigent the great! Still is the toiling hand of Care: Yet hark, how through the peopled air The busy murmur glows! The insect youth are on the wing, Eager to taste the honied spring, .G And float amid the liquid noon : To Contemplation's sober eye And they that creep, and they that fly, Alike the busy and the gay But Butter through life's little day, They leave, in dust to rest. Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply: 'Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glittering female meets, On hasty wings thy youth is flown; II. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT. Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes. "TWAS on a lofty vase's side, Her conscious tail her joy declared; Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream: Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue The hapless Nymph with wonder saw : She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize. What female heart can gold despise? What Cat's averse to fish? Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between. (Malignant Fate sate by, and smiled) The slipp'ry verge her feet beguiled, She tumbled headlong in. Eight times emerging from the flood, No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr❜d: From hence, ye beauties, undeceived, Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes III. ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF Ανθρωπος ἱκανὴ πρόφασις εἰς τὸ δυστυχεῖν. YE distant spires, ye antique towers, That crown the wat'ry glade, Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade; And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey; Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way! Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! Ah fields beloved in vain, Where once my careless childhood stray'd I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to sooth, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball? King Henry the Sixth, founder of the College. While some on carnest business bent 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, Alas! regardless of their doom, No sense have they of ills to come, Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's haleful train : Ah, shew them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murthʼrous band Ah, tell them they are men! These shall the fury Passions tear, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that scuiks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, |