Jove frown'd, and "Use (he cried) those eyes This vexing him who gave her birth, Pallas, you give yourself strange airs; Alas! one bad example shown, How quickly all the sex pursue! See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown Between John Overton and you! POEMS ON READING THE TRAVELS OF CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER. 66 [On the publication of Gulliver's Travels, Pope wrote several pieces of humour, intended to accompany the work, which he sent to Swift; and in a letter some time afterwards, dated 8th March, 1726-7, he says: “ You received, I hope, some commendatory verses from a Horse and a Lilliputian to Gulliver, and an heroic Epistle of Mrs. Gulliver. The bookseller would fain have printed them before the second edition of the book; but I would not permit it without your approbation; nor do I much like them.”— It is probable, however, that Swift sent them to the press, as they were printed in the same year (1727) at Dublin, by and for John Hyde, bookseller in Dame-street, in a small duodecimo of sixteen pages, under the title of Poems occasioned by reading the Travels of Captain Lemuel Gulliver, explanatory and commendatory; from which edition they are here given.] TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MAN-MOUNTAIN. AN ODE BY TITTY TIT, POET LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT. TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH. IN amaze Lost I gaze! Can our eyes Reach thy size! May my lays Swell with praise, Worthy thee! Worthy me! Of him told, When they said Propp'd the skies: See! and believe your eyes! See him stride Valleys wide, Over woods, Over floods! When he treads, Mountains' heads Groan and shake: Armies quake; Lest his spurn Overturn Man and steed: Troops, take heed! Left and right, Speed your flight! Lest an host Beneath his foot be lost! From his hide Safe from wound, Darts rebound. From his nose Clouds he blows: When he speaks, When he eats, Famine threats! When he drinks, Nigh thy ear, In mid air, On thy hand Let me stand; So shall I, Lofty poet! touch the sky. THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG. A PASTORAL. SOON as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care, In peals of thunder now she roars, and now, Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears: Her locks dishevell'd and her flood of tears, When from the thatch drips fast a shower of rain. And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide, Sure in that lake he dropp'd; my Grilly's drown'd!" 66 Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? Who from a page can ever learn the truth? Versed in court-tricks, that money-loving boy To some lord's daughter sold the living toy; Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, As children tear the wings of flies away. From place to place o'er Brobdingnag I'll roam, And never will return, or bring thee home. But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind? How then thy fairy footsteps can I find? Dost thou bewilder'd wander all alone In the green thicket of a mossy stone; Or, tumbled from the toadstool's slippery round, Perhaps, all maim'd, lie groveling on the ground? Dost thou, embosom'd in the lovely rose, Or, sunk, within the peach's down, repose? Within the kingcup if thy limbs are spread, O show me, Flora, 'midst those sweets, the flower Hast thou for these now ventured from the shore, No more behold thee turn my watch's key, How wert thou wont to walk with cautious tread, A dish of tea, like milkpail, on thy head ! And keep the rolling maggot at a bay!" She spoke; but broken accents stopp'd her voice, Soft as the speaking-trumpet's mellow noise: She sobb'd a storm, and wiped her flowing eyes, Which seem'd like two broad suns in misty skies. O squander not thy grief! those tears command To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland : The plenteous pickle shall preserve the fish, And Europe taste thy sorrows in a dish. |