Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, He gave to misery all he had-a tear; He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd)—a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode; There they alike in trembling hope repose, The bosom of his Father and his God. The Attic warbler pours her throat, The untaught harmony of spring; While, whisp'ring pleasure as they fly, Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling. Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade, Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, Beside some water's rushy brink How vain the ardour of the crowd! Still is the toiling hand of care, The insect youth are on the wing, And float amid the liquid noon; To contemplation's sober eye And they that creep, and they that fly, Alike the busy and the gay Methinks I hear, in accents low, The sportive kind reply: Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets, ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES. 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, The azure flowers that blow-- Her conscious tail her joy declared; Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide The hapless nymph with wonder saw: She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize. Presumptuous maid! with looks intent Eight times emerging from the flood, No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd; From hence, ye beauties undeceived, Not all that tempts your wandering eyes ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE Ανθρωπος ἱκανὴ πρόφασις εἰς τὸ δυςυχεῖν.—MENANDER. Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, That crown the watery glade, Her Henry's holy shade; |