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Now therefore! Edipus ! declare
A process, that obtains
with so much ado, At last produces !—tell me true,
And take me for your pains !
IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
None ever shared the social feast,
Arrived, the pensionary band,
As in her ancient mistress' lap
The youthful tabby lay,
Alike disposed to play.
And with protruded claws
Mere wantonness the cause.
At once, resentful of the deed,
She shakes her to the ground With many a threat, that she shall bleed
With still a deeper wound.
It was a venial stroke:
Should bear a kitten's joke.
INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST.
Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains
And seldom another it can-
In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man,
Though in all places equally free, Come! oft as the season is rude,
Thou art sure to be welcome to me. At sight of the first feeble ray,
That pierces the clouds of the east, To inveigle thee every day
My windows shall show thee a feast; For, taught by experience I know
Thee mindful of benefit long, And that, thankful for all I bestow,
Thou wilt pay me with many a song. Then, soon as the swell of the buds
Bespeaks the renewal of spring, Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods,
Or where it shall please thee to sing : And shouldst thou, compell’d by a frost,
Come again to my window or door, Doubt not an affectionate host,
Only pay, as thou pay’dst me before. Thus music must needs be confest
To flow from a fountain above; Else how should it work in the breast
Unchangeable friendship and love ?
And who on the globe can be found,
Save your generation and ours, That can be delighted by sound,
Or boasts any musical powers ?
The shepherd touch'd his reed; sweet Philomel
Essay'd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain, And treasuring, as on her ear they fell,
The numbers, echoed note for note again.
The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before
A rival of his skill, indignant heard,
In loftier tones defied the simple bird.
She dared the task, and rising, as he rose,
With all the force, that passion gives, inspired, Return'd the sounds awhile, but in the close,
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired.
Thus strength, not skill, prevail'd. O fatal strife,
By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun! And O sad victory, which cost thy life,
And he may wish that he had never won!
ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADY,
WHO LIVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON HER
ANCIENT dame, how wide and vast,
To a race like ours appears, Rounded to an orb at last,
All thy multitude of years! We, the herd of human kind,
Frailer and of feebler powers ; We, to narrow bounds confined,
Soon exhaust the sum of ours.
Death's delicious banquet, we
Perish even from the womb, Swifter than a shadow flee,
Nourish’d, but to feed the tomb.
Seeds of merciless disease
Lurk in all that we enjoy ; Some, that waste us by degrees,
Some, that suddenly destroy.
And if life o'erleap the bourn,
Common to the sons of men, What remains, but that we mourn,
Dream, and dote, and drivel then ?
Fast as moons can wax and wane,
Sorrow comes; and while we groan, Pant with anguish and complain,
Half our years are fled and gone.