And a Sieur Guillemot next perform'd a pas seul,
While the elderly bipeds were playing a pool.
The Dowager Lady Tucoan first cut in,
With old Doctor Buzzard and Admiral Penguin;
From Ivy-bush tower came Dame Owlet the wise,
And Counsellor Cross-bill sat by to advise.
Some birds passed their prime, o'er whose heads it was fated
Should pass many St. Valentines-yet be unmated,
Sat by, and remark'd that the prudent and sage
Were quite overlook'd in this frivolous age,
When birds, scarce pen-feather'd, were brought to a rout,
Forward Chits! from the egg-shell but newly come out.
In their youthful days, they ne'er witnessed such frisking;
And how wrong in the Greenfinch to flirt with the Siskin!
So thought Lady Mackaw, and her friend Cockatoo ;
And the Raven fortold that no good could ensue !
They censured the Bantam, for strutting and crowing
In those vile pantaloons, which he fancied look'd knowing:
And a want of decorum caused many demurs
Against the Game Chicken, for coming in spurs.
Old Alderman Cormorant, for supper impatient,
At the Eating-room door for an hour had been station'd,
Till a Magpie, at length, the banquet announcing,
Gave the signal, long wish'd for, of clamoring and pouncing:
At the well-furnish'd board all were eager to perch,
But the little Miss Creepers were left in the lurch.
Description must fail, and the pen is unable
To recount all the luxuries that cover'd the table.
Each delicate viand that taste could denote,
Wasps a la sauce piquante, and Flies en compote;
Worms and Frogs en friture, for the web-footed Fowl,
And a barbecued Mouse was prepared for the Owl;
Nuts, grains, fruit, and fish, to regale every palate,
And groundsel and chickweed served up in a salad.
The Razor-bill carved for the famishing group,
And the Spoon-bill obligingly ladled the soup;
So they fill'd all their crops with the danties before 'em, And the tables were clear'd with the utmost decorum.
When they gaily had caroll'd till peep of the dawn, The Lark gently hinted 'twas time to be gone; And his clarion, so shrill, gave the company warning, That Chanticleer scented the gales of the morning. So they chirp'd in full chorus, a friendly adieu; And, with hearts beating light as the plumage that grew On their merry-thought bosoms, away they all flew.
Then long live the Peacock, in splendour unmatch'd, Whose Ball shall be talk'd of by Birds yet unhatch'd! His praise let the Trumpeter loudly proclaim,
And the Goose lend her quill to transmit it to fame.
Pretty, modest, drooping flower,
What, tho' winter's chilling blast
Long hath staid the vernal hour,
Still again we meet at last;
Meet, as when so oft delighted,
Thee I spied in days of yore;
Would that every pleasure blighted
Jocund spring could thus restore.
On the self-same bank abiding,
Soft as then thy blushes peer,
Half their fragrant purple hiding,
'Neath the leaves that flourish near.
This, methinks, thy modest bearing
Lends a moral to our race-
Happy who such beauty sharing,
Share alike thy simple grace.
How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour;
And gather honey all the day,
From ev'ry op'ning flow'r!
How skilfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labours hard to store it well,
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour or of skill,
I would be busy too;
For Satan finds some mischief still,
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be past;
That I may give for ev'ry day,
Some good account at last.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device-
His brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche !"
This was the peasant's last good night;
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade,
And the whispering sound of the cool colonade;
The winds play no longer, and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse in his bosom their image receives.
Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view
Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew;
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade.
The blackbird has fled to another retreat,
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,
And the scene where his melody charm'd me before
Resounds with his sweet flowing ditty no more.
My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.
"Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.
|