Still is the toiling hand of Care;
The panting herds repose:

Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The busy murmur glows!

The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,

And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some show their gaily-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the sun.

To Contemplation's sober eye

Such is the race of Man;

And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.

Alike the Busy and the Gay

But flutter through life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colours drest :
Brush'd by the hand of rough mischance,
Or chill'd by age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear in accents low
The sportive, kind reply:

Poor moralist! and what art thou?

A solitary fly!

Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

No painted plumage to display :

On hasty wings thy youth is flown ;
gone-

Thy sun is set, thy spring is

We frolic, while 'tis May.

ODE II.

ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT,

DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES.

"TWAS on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers, that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,

The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her

paws,

Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,

Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream:

Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue

Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw : 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 averse to fish?

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slipp'ry verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to every wat'ry god,
Some speedy aid to send.

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd:
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A Fav'rite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes, And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;

Nor all that glisters gold.

ODE III.

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

*Ανθρωπος ἱκανὴ πρόφασις εἰς τὸ δυστυχεῖν.

MENANDER.

YE distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the wat'ry glade,

Where grateful Science still adores

Her HENRY's holy shade;

And ye, that from the stately brow

Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below

Of

grove,

of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way!

Ah happy rills! ah pleasing shade!

Ah fields beloved in vain !—

Where once my careless childhood stray'd—

A stranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye

A momentary bliss bestow,

blow

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.

Say, Father Thames, (for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace,)
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave?
The captive linnet which enthrall?
What idle progeny succeed

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

While some, on earnest business bent,

Their murm'ring labours ply

'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint,

To sweeten liberty :

Some bold adventurers disdain

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 snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever-new,
And lively cheer of vigour born;

The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.