(At ease reclin'd in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud! How indigent the great! Still is the toiling hand of Care, Yet hark! how thro' the peopled air The insect youth are on the wing, To Contemplation's sober eyet, Alike the busy and the gay In Fortune's varying colours drest! Methinks I hear in accents low, Poor Moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, Nare per æstatem liquidam. Virg. Georg. lib. 4. sporting with quick glance, Shew to the sun their wav'd coats dropt with gold. Milton's Paradise Lost, b. 7. While insects from the threshold preach, &c. Mr. Green in the Grotto. Dodsley's Miscellanies, vol. v. p. 161. No painted plumage to display: ODE II. ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes. TWAS on a lofty vase's side, "TW Where China's gayest art had dy'd The azure flow'rs that blow, Demurest of the tabby kind, The pensive Selima reclin'd, Gaz'd on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declar'd; Her coat that with the tortoise vies, Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the tide, Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue The hapless nymph with wonder saw: With many an ardent wish, She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize: What Cat's averse to fish? Presumpt'ous maid! with looks intent, Eight times emerging from the flood, No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, From hence, ye Beauties! undeceiv'd, Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes, ODE III. A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. YE distant Spires! ye antique Tow'rs! That crown the war'ry glade Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade; And ye that from the stately brow His silver winding way. King Henry VI. founder of the College Ah happy hills!ah pleasing shade! 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 Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen To chase the rolling circle's speed, While some, on earnest bus'ness bent, 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint, Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, * And bees their honey redolent of spring. Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. System. Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, And lively cheer of vigour born; 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 baleful train! Ah! shew them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band! Ah! tell them they are men. These shall the fury passions tear, And Shame, that skulks behind; Ambition this shall tempt to rise, And grinning Infamy: The stings of Falsehood those shall try, That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow; * And madness laughing in his ireful mood. Dryden's Fable of Palemon and Areite. |