161. THE KID. A tear bedews my Delia's eye To think yon playful kid must die; Erewhile, [1] in sportive circles, round Pleased on his various freaks to dwell, She tells with what delight he stood She tells me how, with eager speed, His every frolic, light as air, [1] Erewhile-a little while ago. Shenstone. 162.-THE HAREBELL AND THE In a valley obscure on a bank of green shade, new; She dined on a sunbeam and supped on the dew; One morning she saw, on the opposite side, Dissatisfied, jealous, and peevish she grows, before And the sight of this Foxglove destroys her repose; She tires of her vesture, and, swelling with spleen, Cries, 'Ne'er such a dowdy blue mantle was 66 seen!" Nor keeps to herself any longer her pain, But thus to a Primrose begins to complain: “I envy your mood, that can patient abide The respect paid that Foxglove, his airs and his pride: There you sit, still the same, with your colourless cheek; But you have no spirit-would I were as meek!" The Primrose, good-humoured, replied, "If you knew More about him--(remember I'm older than you, And, better instructed, can tell you his tale)You would envy him least of all flowers in this vale; With all his fine airs and his dazzling show, No flower more baneful and odious can blow; And the reason the flowerets before him give way, Is because they all hate him, and shrink from his sway. To stay near him long would be fading or death, For he scatters a pest with his venomous breath; While the flowers that you fancy are crowding you there Spring round you, delighted your converse to share: His flame-coloured robe is imposing, tis true; Yet who likes it so well as your mantle of blue? For we know that of innocence one is the vest, He blighted twin violets that under him lay, The Primrose was silent; the Harebell, 'tis said, 163.-KING CANUTE. Upon his royal throne he sate, His servile courtiers stood, With foolish flatteries, false and vain, They told him e'en the mighty deep That he could bid its billows leap, He smiled contemptuously, and cried, Down to the ocean's sounding shore King Canute's power proclaim ; Not so, thought he, their noble king, His throne was placed by ocean's side, He lifted his sceptre there; Bidding, with tones of kingly pride, And, while he spoke his royal will, Louder the stormy blast swept by, As threat'ning, in their angry play, The monarch, with upbraiding look, But none the kindling eye could brook For in that wrathful glance, they see Canute! thy regal race is run; Thy name were passed away, Its meek, unperishing renown The Persian, [1] in his mighty pride, But it was worthier far of thee To know thyself, than rule the sea! Bernard Barton. 2 [1] Xerxes. U |