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THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.

A HARE, who, in a civil way,
Complied with everything, like GAY,
Was known to all the bestial train,
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.

As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies :
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles, to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round;
Till, fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear she gasping lay.

What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the Horse appear'd in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight ;
To friendship every burden's light."
The Horse replied, " Poor honest puss,
It grieves my heart to see you thus:
Be comforted; relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear.”

She next the stately Bull implored;
And thus replied the mighty lord:
"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,

I may without offence pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
And when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But see, the Goat is just behind."

The Goat remark'd her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye: "My back," says he, may do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."

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The Sheep was feeble, and complain'd
His sides a load of wool sustain'd;
Said he was slow, confess'd his fears,
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.

She now the trotting Calf address'd,
To save from death a friend distress'd.
"Shall I," said he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler pass'd you by ;
How strong are these, how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence.
Excuse me then. You know my heart;
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament! Adieu!
For see the hounds are just in view!"

JOHN GAY.

TO THE EGYPTIAN MUMMY IN

BELZONI'S EXHIBITION.

AND thou hast walk'd about (how strange a story!)
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And Time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous.
Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dummy;

Thou hast a tongue, come, let us hear its tune; Thou'rt standing on thy legs above ground, mummy! Revisiting the glimpses of the moon,

Not like thin ghosts, or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones and flesh, and limbs and features.
Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden

By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade,-
Then say, what secret melody was hidden

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise play'd? Perhaps thou wert a priest,-If so, my struggles Are vain, for priestcraft never owns its juggles. Perchance that very hand, now pinion'd flat,

Has hob-a-nobb'd with Pharaoh, glass to glass,
Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat,

Or doff'd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch at the great Temple's dedication.

I must not ask thee if that hand, when arm'd,
Has any Roman soldier maul'd and knuckled;
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalm'd,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled :
Antiquity appears to have begun

Long after thy primeval race was run.

Since first thy form was in this box extended,

We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations;

The Roman empire has begun and ended;

New worlds have risen; we have lost old nations; And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.

Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head,

When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, March'd armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,

And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?

If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd,
The nature of thy private life unfold.

A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast,
And tears adown that dusky cheek have roll'd;
Have children climb'd those knees, and kiss'd that face?
What was thy name and station, age and race?
Statue of flesh! immortal of the dead!

Imperishable type of evanescence!

Posthumous man! who quitt'st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecayéd in our presence,
Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning,
When the great trump shall thrill thee with its
warning.

Why should this worthless tegument endure,
If its undying guest be lost for ever?
O, let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure

In living virtue, that when both must sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
The' immortal spirit in the skies may bloom!
HORACE SMITH.

THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

HERE it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling;
Here smoking and frothing,
Its tumult and wrath in,

It hastens along, conflicting and strong,

Now striking and raging,
As if a war waging,

Its caverns and rocks among.

Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and flinging,
Showering and springing,
Eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking,
Twining and twisting

Around and around,
Collecting, disjecting,

With endless rebound;
Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in,
Confounding, astounding,

Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.

Reeding and speeding,

And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting,
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping,
And whitening and brightening,
And quivering and shivering,

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