The matron sate, and some with rank she She meditates a prayer to set him free; graced, Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny, (The source of children's and of courtiers' (If gentle pardon could with daines agree) pride!) To her sad grief, which swells in either eye, Redressed affronts, for vile affronts there And wrings her so that all for pity she could No longer can she now her shrieks command, To stay harsh justice in his mid-career. And other some with baleful sprig she frays; sways; Forewarned if little bird their pranks behold, 'T will whisper in her ear and all the scene unfold. Lo! now with state she utters the command; Which with pellucid horn secured are, Ah luckless he, and born beneath the beam And down they drop; appears his dainty skin, Fair as the furry coat of whitest ermilin. trace? Or what device his loud laments explain? When he in abject wise implores the dame, The other tribe, aghast, with sore dismay, Knowing, I wis, how each the same may share, Till fear has taught them a performance meet, And to the well-known chest the dame repair, Whence oft with sugared cates she doth them: greet, And ginger-bread y-rare; now, certes, doubly sweet. See to their seats they hie with merry glee, Oruthful scene! when from a nook obscure, And in beseemly order sitten there; His little sister doth his peril see; All playful as she sate, she grows demure; She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee: All but the wight of bum y-galled; he Abhorreth bench, and stool, and fourm, and chair, THE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 147 (This hand in mouth y-fixed, that rends his Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so, As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er hair ;) And eke with snubs profound, and heaving breast, Convulsions intermitting, doth declare shall die! Though now he crawl along the ground sc low, His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest; Nor weeting how the Muse should soar or And scorns her offered love, and shuns to be caressed. His face besprent with liquid crystal shines, All smeared and sullied by a vernal shower. If so I deem aright, transcending worth and fame. Behind some door, in melancholy thought, resent. high, And now Dan Phoebus gains the middle skic, For well may freedom erst so dearly won, Ah me! how much I fear lest pride it be! quires, Like Vernon's patriot soul! more justly great Than craft that pimps for ill or flowery false deceit. Yet nursed with skill, what dazzling fruits E'en now sagacious Foresight points to show Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade, And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest flow. ers, laid; For never may ye taste more careless hours Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of king. See in each sprite some various bent appear! Salute the stranger passing on his way; Thilk to the hunter's savory cottage tend, Here, as each season yields a different store, Each season's stores in order ranged been; Apples with cabbage-net y-covered o'er, Galling full sore th' unmoneyed wight, are seen; And goose-b'rie clad in livery red or green; See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, With pampered look draw little eyes aside; And must be bought, though penury betide. The plumb all azure and the nut all brown, And here each season do those cakes abide. Whose honored names th' inventive city own, ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. YE distant spires, ye antique towers, Her Henry's holy shade; And ye that from the stately brow Wanders the hoary Thames along Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! I feel the gales that from ye blow As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen The paths of pleasure trace; The captive linnet which enthrall ? Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's To chase the rolling circle's speed, praises known. Or urge the flying ball? While some, on urgent business bent, Some bold adventurers disdain And unknown regions dare descry; Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast: Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue, Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of vigor born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly the approach of morn. Alas! regardless of their doom, No sense have they of ills to come, Yet see, how all around them wait And black misfortune's baleful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them, they are men! These shall the fury passions tear, Or pining love shall waste their youth, Or jealousy, with rankling tooth, That inly gnaws the secret heart; Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter scorn a sacrifice, And grinning infamy; The stings of falsehood those shall try, That mocks the tears it forced to flow; And keen remorse, with blood defiled, And moody madness, laughing wild Amid severest woe. Lo! in the vale of years beneath The painful family of death, More hideous than their queen; This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every laboring sinew strains, Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo! poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, And slow-consuming age. To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, The unfeeling for his own. 149 Yet, ah! why should they know their fate! Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies, Thought would destroy their paradise. No more where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise! THOMAS GRAY. THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. Now ponder well, you parents dear, The words which I shall write; In time brought forth to light: Whose wealth and riches did surmount Sore sick he was, and like to die, No help then he could have; His wife by him as sick did lie, And both possessed one grave. No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kind; In love they lived, in love they died, And left two babes behind: The one a fine and pretty boy, Not passing three years old; As plainly doth appear, And to his little daughter Jane Five hundred pounds in gold, To be paid down on marriage-day, Which might not be controlled; But if the children chanced to die Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possess their wealth, For so the will did run. "Now, brother," said the dying man, "Look to my children dear; Be good unto my boy and girl, My children, night and day; Within this world to stay. "You must be father and mother both, And uncle, all in one; God knows what will become of them "And if you keep them carefully, If otherwise you seem to deal, She kissed her children small: "God bless you both, my children dear," With that the tears did fall. These speeches then their brother spake Their parents being dead and gone, He bargained with two ruffians strong, That they should take these children young, And slay them in a wood. He told his wife, and all he had, To be brought up in fair London, Away then went these pretty babes, They should on cock-horse ride; To those that should their butchers be, So that the pretty speech they had, Yet one of them, more hard of heart, The other would not agree thereto, While babes did quake for fear. He took the children by the hand When tears stood in their eye, And two long miles he led them on, "Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread When I do come again." These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and down, Thus wandered these two pretty babca As babes wanting relief. |