Imagens das páginas
PDF

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,

And be with caution bold;
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Nor all that glitters, gold.

Gray.

151.-EPITAPH ON A TAME HARE.[1]
Here lies whom hound did ne'er pursue,

Nor swifter greyhound follow;
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning's dew,

Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo.
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,

Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin’d,

Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took

His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,

And when he could, would bite.

His diet was of wheaten bread,

And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,

With sand to scour his maw.[2]

[1] Tiney and Puss were the names of two tame hares kept many years by the poet Cowper :-on the death of Tiney he wrote these lines as a memorial.

[2] Maw-stomach.

On twigs of hawthorn he regaled,

Or pippins' russet peel;
And when his juicy sallads failed,

Sliced carrots pleased him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,

Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,

And swing his rump around.
His frisking was at evening hours,

For then he lost his fear,
But most before approaching showers,

Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years, and five round rolling moons,

He thus saw steal away;
Dozing out all his idle noons,

And every night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,

For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,

And force me to a smile.
But now beneath this walnut shade

He finds his long last home,
And waits, in snug concealment laid,

Till gentler Puss shall come.
She, still more aged, feels the shocks,

From which no care can save ;
✓ And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.

Cowper.

· 152.- FROM THE PERSIAN. On parent's knees, a naked new-born child, Weeping, thou sat'st, while all around thee smil'd; So live, that sinking in thy last sad sleep, Calm, thou may’st smile, while all around thee weep.

Sir W. Jones.

153.-TIME. Time that is past, thou never canst recal; Of time to come, thou art not sure at all; Time present, only, is within thy power, And therefore now improve the present hour.

154.-CHILDHOOD'S SPORTS. ’Neath yonder elm, that stands upon the moor, When the clock spoke the hour of labour o'er, What clam'rous throngs, what happy groups, were

seen, In various postures scatt'ring o'er the green!. Some shoot the marble, others join the chace Of self-made stag, or run the emulous race; While others, seated on the dappled [1] grass, With doleful tales the light-winged minutes pass. Well I remember how, with gesture starch’d, A band of soldiers, oft with pride we march'd ; For banners, to a tall ash we did bind Our ’kerchiefs, flapping to the whistling wind;

[1] Dappled-of different colours, streaked.

And for our warlike arms we sought the mead,
And guns, and spears we made of brittle reed;
Then, in uncouth array, our feats to crown,
We storm'd some ruin'd pigstye for a town.

Kirke White.

155.-BETH-GELERT,
OR THE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND. [1]
The spearman heard the bugle sound,

And gayly smiled the morn,
And many a brach, [2] and many a hound,

Attend Llewellyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast,

And gave a louder cheer ;
« Come Gelert, why art thou the last

Llewellyn's horn to hear ?
“ Where does my faithful Gelert roam?

The flower of all his race;
So true, so brave; a lamb at home,

A lion in the chase.”
'Twas only at Llewellyn's board

The faithful Gelert fed ;
He watch'd, he serv’d, he cheer'd his lord,

And sentinel'd (3) his bed.

[1] The name of a village in North Wales. The circumstances narrated in this poem occurred in the reign of King John of England, when Llewellyn the Great was the independent Prince of North Wales,

[2] Brach-a female hound.
[3] Sentinel'd-watched as a sentinel.

In sooth, he was a peerless hound,

The gift of Royal John: [1]
But now no Gelert could be found,

And all the chase rode on.
And now, as over rocks and dells

The huntsmen's cheerings rise, All Snowdon's craggy chaos [2] yells

With many mingled cries.
That day Llewellyn little loved

The chase of hart or hare,
And scant and small the booty proved,

For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,

When, near the portal seat, [3]
His truant Gelert he espied,

Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gain'd his castle door,

Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound was smear'd with drops of gore,

His lips and fangs [4] ran blood!
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,

Unused such looks to meet;
His favourite check'd his joyful guise, [5]

And crouched and lick'd his feet.

[1] Royal John-King John of England.

[2] Craggy chaos-confused mass of craggy rocks, which formed the mountain.

(3] Portal seat-seat at the door of his castle.
[4] Fangs_long tusks or teeth.
[5] Guise- manner, appearance.

« AnteriorContinuar »