More plenteous draughts, of more divine import.
Hail, happy youths! on whom indulgent Heaven
Each grace divine bestows! nor yet denies
Carnal beatitudes, sweet privilege
Of saints elect! royal prerogative!

Here in domestic cares employ'd, and bound
To annual servitude, frail Tabitha,

Her pristine vigour lost, now mourns in vain
Her sharpen'd visage, and the sickly qualms
That grieve her soul; a prey to Love, while Grace
Slept heedless by! Yet her undaunted mind
Still meditates the prize, and still she hopes,
Beneath the unwieldy load, her wonted speed.
Others of meaner fame the stately Muse
Records not; on more lofty nights intent,
She spurns the ground, and mounts her native skies.
Room for the master of the ring; ye swains!
Divide your crowded ranks. See! there on high
The glittering prize, on the tall standard borne,
Waving in air; before him march in files
The rural minstrelsy, the rattling drum
Of solemn sound, and th' animating horn,
Each huntsman's joy; the tabor and the pipe,
Companion dear at feasts, whose chearful notes
Give life and motion to th' unwieldy clown.
Ev'n Age revives, and the pale puking maid
Feels ruddy health rekindling on her cheeks,
And with new vigour trips it o'er the plain.
Counting each careful step, he paces o'er
The allotted ground, and fixes at the goal
His standard, there himself majestic swells.
Stretch'd in a line, the panting rivals wait
Th' expected signal, with impatient eyes
Measure the space between, and in conceit
Already grasp the warm-contested prize.
Now all at once rush forward to the goal,
And step by step, and side by side, they ply
Their busy feet, and leave the crowd behind.
Quick heaves each breast, and quick they shoot along,
Thro' the divided air, and bound it o'er the plain.
To this, to that, capricious Fortune deals
Short hopes, short fears, and momentary joy.
The breathless throng with open throats pursue,
And broken accents shout imperfect praise.
Such noise confus'd is heard, such wild uproar,
When on the main the swelling surges rise,
Dash o'er the rocks, and, hurrying through the flood,
Drive on each other's backs, and crowd the strand.
Before the rest tall Tabitha was seen,
Stretching amain, and whirling o'er the field;
Swift as the shooting star that gilds the night
With rapid transient blaze, she runs, she flies;
Sudden she stops, nor longer can endure
The painful course, but drooping sinks away,
And, like that falling meteor, there she lies
A jelly cold on earth. Fusca, with joy,
Beheld her wretched plight; o'er the pale corse
Insulting bounds! Hope gave her wings, and now,
Exerting all her speed, step after step,
At Ganderetta's elbow urg'd her way,
Her shoulder pressing, and with poisonous breath
Tainting her ivory neck. Long while had held
The sharp contest, had not propitious Heaven,
With partial hands, to such transcendent charms
Dispens'd its favours. For as o'er the green
The careless gipsy, with incautious speed,
Push'd forward, and her rival fair had reach'd
With equal pace, and only not o'erpass'd;
Haply she treads, where late the merry train,

In wasteful luxury, and wanton joy,
Lavish had spilt the cider's frothy flood,
And mead with custard mix'd. Surpriz'd, appall'd,
And in the treacherous puddle struggling long,
She slipp'd, she fell, upon her back supine
Extended lay; the laughing multitude
With noisy scoru approv'd her just disgrace.
As the sleek leveret skims before the pack,
So flies the nymph, and so the crowd pursue.
Borne on the wings of wind, the dear one flies,
Swift as the various goddess, nor less bright
In beauty's prime, when through the yielding air
She darts along, and with refracted rays
Paints the gay clouds; celestial messenger,
Charg'd with the high behests of Heaven's great
Her at the goal with open arms receiv'd
[queen!
Fond Hobbinol; with active leap he seiz'd
The costly prize, and laid it at her feet.
Then pausing stood, dumb with excess of joy,
Expressive silence! for each tender glance
Betray'd the raptures that his tongue conceal'd.
Less mute the crowd, in echoing shouts, applaud
Her speed, her beauty, his obsequious love.

Upon a little eminence, whose top
O'erlook'd the plain, a steep, but short ascent,
Plac'd in a chair of state, with garlands crown'd,
And loaded with the fragrance of the spring,
Fair Ganderetta shone, like mother Eve
In her gay sylvan lodge: delicious bower!
Where Nature's wanton hand, above the reach
Of rule, or art, had lavish'd all her store,
To deck the flowery root': and at her side,
Imperial Hobbinol, with front sublime,
Great as a Roman consul, just return'd
From cities sack'd, and provinces laid waste,
In his paternal wicker sat, enthron'd.
With eager eyes the crowd about them press,
Ambitious to behold the happy pair.
Each voice, each instrument, proclaims their joy
With loudest vehemence; such noise is heard,
Such a tumultuous din, when, at the call

Of Britain's sovereign, the rustic bands
O'erspread the fields; the subtle candidates
Dissembled homage pay, and court the fools
Whom they despise; each proud majestic clown
Looks big, and shouts amain, mad with the taste
Of power supreme, frail empire of a day!
That with the setting Sun extinct is lost.

Nor is thy grandeur, mighty Hobbinol!
Of longer date. Short is, alas! the reign
Of mortal pride: we play our parts a while
And strut upon the stage; the scene is chang'd,
And offers us a dungeon for a throne.
Wretched vicissitude! for, after all
His tinsel dreams of empire and renown,
Fortune, capricious dame, withdraws at once
The goodly prospect, to his eyes presents
Her, whom his concious soul abhorr'd, and fear'd.
Lo! pushing through the crowd, a meagre form,
With hasty step, and visage incompos'd!
Wildly she star'd; Rage sparkled in her eyes,
And Poverty sat shrinking on her cheeks.
Yet through the cloud that hung upon her brows,
A faded lustre broke, that dimly shone
Shorn of its beams, the ruins of a face,
Impair'd by time, and shatter'd by misfortunes.
A froward babe hung at her flabby breast,
And tugg'd for life; but wept, with hideous moan,
His frustrate hopes, and unavailing pains.

Another o'er her bending shoulder peep'd,
Swaddled around with rags of various hue.
He kens his comrade-twin with envious eye,
As of his share defrauded; then ainain
He also screams, and to his brother's cries
In doleful concert joins his loud laments.
O dire effect of lawless love! O sting

Of pleasure past! As when a full-freight ship,
Blest in a rich return of pearls or gold,
Or fragrant spice, or silks of costly dye,
Makes to the wish'd-for port with swelling sails,
And all her gaudy trim display'd; o'erjoy'd

The master smiles; but if from some small creek,
A lurking corsair the rich quarry spies,
With all her sails bears down upon her prey,
And peals of thunder from her hollow sides
Check his triumphant course; aghast he stands,
Stiffen'd with fear, unable to resist,
And impotent to fly; all his fond hopes

Are dash'd at once! nought now, alas! remains
But the sad choice of slavery or death!
So far'd it with the hapless Hobbinol,
In the full blaze of his triumphant joy
Surpris'd by her, whose dreadful face alone
Could shake his stedfast soul. In vain he turns,
And shifts his place averse; she haunts him still
And glares upon him, with her haggard eyes,
That fiercely spoke her wrongs. Words swell'd with
sighs

At length burst forth, and thus she storms enrag'd. "Know'st thou not me? false man! not to know me Argues thyself unknowing of thyself,

Puff'd up with pride, and bloated with success.
Is injur'd Mopsa then so soon forgot;

Thou knew'st me once, ah! woe is me! thou didst.
But if laborious days and sleepless nights,
If hunger, cold, contempt, and penury,
Inseparable guests, have thus disguis'd

Thy once-belov'd, thy handmaid dear; if thine
And Fortune's frowns have blasted all my charms;
If here no roses grow, no lilies bloom,
Nor rear their heads on this neglected face;
If through the world I range a slighted shade,
The ghost of what I was, forlorn, unknown;
At least know these. See; this sweet simpering babe,
Dear image of thyself; see! how it sprunts

With joy at thy approach! see, how it gilds
Its soft smooth face, with false paternal smiles!
Native deceit, from thee, base man, deriv'd!
Or view this other elf, in every art

Of smiling fraud, in every treacherous leer,
The very Hobbinol! Ah! cruel man!
Wicked, ingrate! And could'st thou then so soon,
So soon forget that pleasing fatal night,
When me, beneath the flowery thorn surpriz'd,
Thy artful wiles betray'd? was there a star,
By which thou didst not swear? was there a curse,
A plague on Earth, thou didst not then invoke
On that devoted head; if e'er thy heart
Prov'd haggard to my love, if e'er thy hand
Declin'd the nuptial bond? But, oh! too well,
Too well, alas! my throbbing breast perceiv'd
The black impending storm; the conscious Moon
Veil'd in a sable cloud her modest face,
And boding owls proclaim'd the dire event.
And yet I love thee.-Oh! could'st thou behold
That image dwelling in my heart! But why,
Why waste I here these unavailing tears?
On this thy minion, on this tawdry thing,
On this gay victim, thus with garlands crown'd,
All, all my vengeance fall! ye lightnings, blast
That face accurs'd, the source of all my woe!
Arm, arm, ye Furies! arm; all Hell break loose!
While thus I lead you to my just revenge,
And thus"-Up starts th' astonish'd Hobbinol
To save his better half." Fly, fly," he cries,
Fly, my dear life, the fiend's malicous rage."
Borne on the wings of fear, away she bounds,
And in the neighbouring village pants forlorn.
So the cours'd hare to the close covert flies,
Still trembling, though secure. Poor Hobbinol
More grievous ills attend: around him press
A multitude, with huge Herculean clubs,
Terrific band! the royal mandate these
Insulting show: arrested, and amaz'd,
Half dead he stands; no friends dare interpose,
But bow dejected to th' imperial scroll:
Such is the force of law. While conscious shame
Sits heavy on his brow, they view the wretch
To Rhadamanth's august tribunal dragg'd.
Good Rhadamanth! to every wanton clown
Severe, indulgent to himself alone.

66

Conceit, already plumes the dying bird.
Up springs the hern, redoubling every stroke,
Conscious of danger stretches far away,
With busy pennons and projected beak,
Piercing th' opponent clouds: the falcon swift
Follows at speed, mounts as he mounts, for hope
Gives vigour to her wings. Another soon
Strains after to support the bold attack,
Perhaps a third. As in some winding creek,
On proud Iberia's shore, the corsairs sly
Lurk waiting to surprize a British sail,
Full-freighted from Hetruria's friendly ports,
Or rich Byzantium; after her they skud,
Dashing the spumy waves with equal oars,

Unhappy bird! our fathers' prime delight! Who fenc'd thine eyrie round with sacred laws 5. Nor mighty princes now disdain to wear Thy waving crest 6, the mark of high command, With gold, and pearl, and brilliant gems adorn'd.

Now, if the crystal stream delight thee more, Sportsman, lead on, where through the reedy bank Th' insinuating waters filter'd stray

In many a winding maze. The wild-duck there
Gluts on the fattening ouse, or steals the spawn
Of teeming shoals, her more delicious feast.
How do the sun-beams on the glassy plain
Sport wanton, and amuse our wondering eyes
With variously-reflected changing rays!

To clear her deck, and tell th' insulting foe,
In peals of thunder, Britons cannot fear.
So flies the hern pursu'd, but fighting flies.
Warm grows the conflict, every nerve's employ'd;
Now through the yielding element they soar
Aspiring high, then sink at once, and rove
In trackless mazes through the troubled sky.
No rest, no peace. The falcon hovering flies
Balanc'd in air, and confidently bold

Hangs o'er him like a cloud, then aims her blow
Full at his destin'd head. The watchful hern
Shoots from her like a blazing meteor swift
That gilds the night, eludes her talons keen
And pointed beak, and gains a length of way.
Observe th' attentive crowd; ali hearts are fix'd
On this important war, and pleasing hope
Glows in each breast. The vulgar and the great,
Equally happy now, with freedom share
The common joy. The shepherd-boy forgets
His bleating care; the labouring hind lets fall
His grain unsown; in transport lost, he robs
Th' expecting furrow, and in wild amaze
The gazing village point their eyes to Heaven.
Where is the tongue can speak the falconer's cares,
'Twixt hopes and fears, as in a tempest tost?
His fluttering heart, his varying cheeks confess
His inward woe. Now like a wearied stag,
That stands at bay, the hern provokes their rage;
Close by his languid wing, in downy plumes
Covers his fatal beak, and cautious hides
The well-dissembled fraud. The falcon darts
Like lightning from above, and in her breast
Receives the latent death; down plum she falls
Bounding from earth, and with her trickling gore
Defiles her gaudy plumage. See, alas!
The falconer in despair, his favourite bird
Dead at his feet, as of his dearest friend
He weeps her fate; he meditates revenge,
He storms, he foams, he gives a loose to rage:
Nor wants he long the means; the hern fatigu'd,
Borne down by numbers yields, and prone on earth
He drops: his cruel foes wheeling around
Insult at will. The vengeful falconer flies
Swift as an arrow shooting to their aid;
Then muttering inward curses breaks his wings 3,
And fixes in the ground his hated beak;
Sees with malignant joy the victors proud
Smear'd with his blood, and on his marrow feast. 4

3 This is done to prevent his hurting the hawk: they generally also break their legs.

4 The reward of the hawk made of the brains, marrow, and blood, which they call in Italian, soppa.

That glows with fragrance; Nature all around
Consents to bless. What sluggard now would sink
In beds of down? what miser would not leave
His bags untold for this transporting scene?
Falconer, take care, oppose thy well-trained steed,
And slily stalk; unhood thy falcon bold,
Observe at feed the unsuspecting team
Paddling with oary feet: he's seen, they fly.
Now at full speed the falconer spurs away
T'assist his favourite hawk, she from the rest
Has singled out the mallard young and gay,
Whose green and azure brightens in the Sun.
Swift as the wind that sweeps the desert plain,
With feet, wings, beak, he cuts the liquid sky:
Behoves him now both oar and sail; for see
Th' unequal foe gains on him as he flies.
Long holds th' aerial course; they rise, they fall,
Now skim in circling rings, then stretch away
With all their force, till at one fatal stroke
The vigorous hawk, exerting every nerve,
Truss'd in mid-air bears down her captive prey.
'Tis well on earth they fall; for oft the duck
Mistrusts her coward wings, and seeks again
The kind protecting flood: if haply then
The falcon rash aim a decisive blow,
And spring to gripe her floating prey; at once
She dives beneath, and near some osier's root
Pops up her head secure; then views her foe
Just in the grasping of her fond desires,
And in full pride of triumph, whelm'd beneath
The gliding stream. Ah! where are now, proud bird!
Thy stately trappings, and thy silver bells
Thy glossy plumage, and thy silken crest?
Say, tyrant of the skies! wouldst thou not now
Exchange with thy but late desponding foe
Thy dreadful talons, and thy polish'd beak,
For her web-feet despis'd? How happy they!
Who, when gay pleasure courts, and fortune smiles,
Fear the reverse, with caution tread those paths
Where roses grow, but wily vipers creep!

These are expensive joys, fit for the great
Of large domains possess'd: enough for me
To boast the gentle spar-hawk on my fist,
Or fly the partridge from the bristly field,
Retrieve the covey with my busy train,
Or with my soaring hobby dare the lark.

But, if the sbady woods my cares employ
In quest of feather'd game, my spaniels beat

5 No man was permitted to shoot within 600 yards of the eyrie, or nest of an hern, under great penal

ties.

6 The hern's top worn at coronations here, and by the great men in Asia in their turbans.