But with undissembled mirth
Place him breathless on his bier.
Greece and Rome, with equal scorn,
'O the savages !' exclaim,
'Whether they rejoice or mourn,
Well entitled to the name !'
But the cause of this concern,
And this pleasure would they trace,
Even they might somewhat learn
From the savages of Thrace.
THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE.
ANDROCLES from his injured lord, in dread
Of instant death, to Libya's desert fled.
Tired with his toilsome flight, and parched with heat,
He spied, at length, a cavern's cool retreat;
But scarce had given to rest his
weary frame When hugest of his kind, a lion came: He roared approaching: but the savage din To plaintive murmurs changed, arrived within, And with expressive looks his lifted paw Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw. The fugitive, through terror at a stand, Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand, But bolder grown, at length inherent found A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound. The cure was wrought; he wiped the sanious blood, And firm and free from pain the lion stood, Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day, Regales his inmate with the parted prey. Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared, Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared. But thus to live-still lost-sequestered still— Scarce seemed his lord's revenge a heavier ill.
Home ! native home! O might he but repair!
He must-he will, though death attends him there.
He goes, and doomed to perish, on the sands
Of the full theatre unpitied stands:
When lo! the self-same lion from his cage
Flies to devour him, famished into rage.
He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey
The man, his healer, pauses on his way,
And softened by remembrance into sweet
And kind composure, crouches at his feet.
Mute with astonishment th' assembly gaze:
But why, ye Romans?
Whence your mute amaze ? All this is natural--nature bade him rend
More ancient than the Art of Printing, and not to be found in any Catalogue.
THERE is a book, which we may call
(Its excellence is such) Alone a library, though small;
The ladies thumb it much.
Words none, things numerous it contains:
And, things with words compared,
Who needs be told, that has his brains,
Which merits most regard?
Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue
A golden edging boast;
And opened, it displays to view
Twelve pages at the most.
Nor name, nor title, stamped behind,
Adorns his outer part;
But all within 'tis richly lined,
A magazine of art.
The whitest hands that secret hoard
Oft visit: and the fair
Preserve it in their bosoms stored,
As with a miser's care.
Thence implements of every size,
And formed for various use,
(They need but to consult their eyes)
They readily produce.
The largest and the longest kind
Possess the foremost page,
A sort most needed by the blind,
Or nearly such from age.
The full-charged leaf, which next ensues,
Presents, in bright array,
The smaller sort, which matrons use,
Not quite so blind as they.
The third, the fourth, the fifth supply
What their occasions ask,
Who with a more discerning eye
Perform a nicer task.
But still with regular decrease
From size to size they fall,
leaf
every grow
The last are least of all.
O! what a fund of genius, pent
In narrow space, is here!
This volume's method and intent
How luminous and clear!
It leaves no reader at a loss
Or posed, whoever reads:
No commentator's tedious gloss,
Nor even index needs.
Search Bodley's many thousands o'er,
Nor book is treasured there,
Nor yet in Granta's numerous store,
That may with this compare.
No! Rival none in either host
Of this was ever seen,
Or, that contents could justly boast,
So brilliant and so keen.
VIII. AN ENIGMA.
A NEEDLE Small as small can be,
In bulk and use surpasses me,
Nor is my purchase dear;
For little, and almost for naught,
As many of my kind are bought
As days are in the year.
Yet though but little use we boast,
And are procured at little cost,
The labour is not light,
Nor few artificers it asks,
All skilful in their several tasks,
To fashion us aright.
One fuses metal o'er the fire,
A second draws it into wire,
The shears another plies,
Who clips in lengths the brazen thread,
For him, who, chafing every thread,.
Gives all an equal size.
A fifth prepares, exact and round,
The knob with which it must be crowned;
His follower makes it fast:
And with his mallet and his file
To shape the point employs awhile
The seventh and the last.
Now, therefore, Edipus! declare
What creature, wonderful and rare,
A process that obtains
Its purpose with so much ado,
At last produces !-tell me true,
And take me for your pains!
IX. SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED.
IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
NONE ever shared the social feast,
Or as an inmate or a guest,
Beneath the celebrated dome,
Where once Sir Isaac had his home,
Who saw not (and with some delight
Perhaps he viewed the novel sight)
How numerous, at the tables there,
The sparrows beg their daily fare.
For there, in every nook and cell,
Where such a family may dwell,
Sure as the vernal season comes
Their nests they weave in hope of crumbs,
Which kindly given, may serve, with food
Convenient, their unfeathered brood;
And oft as with its summons clear,
The warning bell salutes the ear,
Sagacious listeners to the sound,
They flock from all the fields around,
To reach the hospitable hall,
None more attentive to the call,
Arrived, the pensionary band,
Hopping and chirping, close at hand,
Solicit what they soon receive,
The sprinkled, plenteous donative.
Thus is a multitude, though large,
Supported at a trivial charge;
A single doit would overpay
Th' expenditure of every day,
And who can grudge so small a grace
To suppliants, natives of the place.
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