« AnteriorContinuar »
The man rose staring, like a stake;
But ere he gave the mighty nod,
Her honours made, “ Great Jove !' she cried,
Nay, rather ask,' the monarch said,
Halves, more than halves !' cried honest Care,
Thus with the gods debate began On such a trivial cause as man. And can celestial tempers rage? Quoth Virgil in a later age.
As thus they wrangled, Time came by ; (There's none that paint him such as i, For what the fabling ancients sung Makes Saturn old when Time was young.) As yet his winters had not shed Their silver honours on his head ; He just had got his pinions free From his old sire Eternity. A serpent girdled round he wore, The tail within the mouth, before ; By which our almanacs are clear That learned Egypt meant the year. A staff he carried, where on high A glass was fix'd to measure by, As amber boxes made a show For heads of canes an age ago. His vest, for day and night, was pied; A bending sickle arm'd his side ; And Spring's new months his train adorn ! The other Seasons were unborn.
Known by the gods, as near he draws, They make him umpire of the cause. O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, Where since his hours a dial made ; Then leaning heard the nice debate, And thus pronounced the words of Fate :
Since body from the parent Earth, And soul from Jove received a birth, Return they where they first began; But, since their union makes the man,
Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, To Care, who join'd them, man is due.''
He said, and sprung with swift career To trace a circle for the year, Where ever since the Seasons wheel, And tread on one another's heel.
" "Tis well,' said Jove; and for consent Thundering he shook the firmament.
Our umpire Time shall have his way; With Care I let the creature stay: Let business vex him, avarice blind, Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, Let error act, opinion speak, And want afflict, and sickness break, And anger burn, dejection chill, Aud joy distract, and sorrow kill, Till arm'd by Care, and taught to mow, Time draws the long destructive blow; And wasted man, whose quick decay Comes hurrying on before his day, Shall only find by this decree The soul flies sooner back to me.'
A FAIRY TALE.
IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE.
In Britain's isle, and Arthur's days, When midnight fairies danced the maze,
Lived Edwin of the Green; Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Though badly shaped he been.
His mountain back mote well be said
And lift itself above;
This creature dared to love.
He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Could ladies look within;
He had a shape to win.
Edwin, if right I read my song,
All in the moony light;
To revel out the night.
His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd; Twas late, 'twas far, the path was lost
That reach'd the neighbour-town : With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolved, the darkling dome he treads,
And drops his liinbs adown.
But scant he lays him on the floor,
And, trembling, rocks the ground:
On all the walls around.
Now sounding tongues assail his ear,
And now the sounds increase :
Come prankling o'er the place.
But (trust me, gentles !) never yet
Or half so rich before:
The town its silken store.
Now, whilst he gazed, a gallaut dress'd
With awful accent cried,
Has here presumed to hide ?'