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WAS on a lofty vafe's fide,


Where China's gayeft art had dy'd

The azure flowers, that blow;
Demureft of the tabby kind,
The penfive Selima reclin'd,
Gaz'd on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The fair round face, the fnowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,

Her coat, that with the tortoife vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She faw; and purr'd applause.

Still had the gaz'd; but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were feen to glide,
The Genii of the stream:

Their fcaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.


The hapless Nymph with wonder faw:

A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,

She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What Cat 's averfe to fifh?

Prefumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again fhe ftretch'd, again fhe bent,
Nor knew the gulph between.
(Malignant Fate fate by, and fmil'd)
The flippery verge her feet beguil'd,
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to every watery god,
Some speedy aid to fend.

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Sufan heard,
A favourite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
Know, one falfe ftep is ne'er retriev'd,
And be with caution bold.

Not all, that tempts your wandering eyes.
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Not all that glifters, gold.

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YE diftant fpiras, ye antique towers,

That crown the watery glade,

Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;


And ye, that from the ftately brow

Of Windfor's heights th' expanfe below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flowers among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His filver-winding way.

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade,,

Ah, fields belov'd in vain,

Where once my carelefs childhood stray'd,

A ftranger yet to pain!

I feel

*King Henry the Sixth, Founder of the College.

I feel the gales, that from ye
A momentary blifs bestow,


As waving fresh their gladfome wing,'
My weary foul they seem to footh,


redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a fecond fpring.

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen ́1

Full many a sprightly race

Difporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace,

Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glaffy wave?
The captive linnet which enthrall?
What idle progeny fucceed

To chace the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While fome on earnest business bent

Their murmuring labours ply

'Gainft graver hours, that bring constraint

To fweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers difdain

The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry:

Still as they run they look behind,

They hear a voice in every wind,

And fnatch a fearful joy.

*And bees their honey redolent of fpring.

Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. Syftem.


Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed,
Lefs pleasing, when poffeft;

The tear forgot as foon as shed,
The funfhine of the breast:

Theirs buxom health, of rofy hue;
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively chear of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The fpirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No fenfe have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day.

Yet fee how all around them wait
The ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train,
Ah, fhew them where in ambush stand
To feize their prey, the murtherous band!
Ah, tell them, they are men!

Thefe fhall the fury paffions tear,
The vulturs of the mind,

Difdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that fculks behind;

Or pining Love, fhall wafte their youth,
Or Jealoufy, with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-vifag'd comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.


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