He opes his fist, the treasure's fled, He sees a halter in its stead.
She bids Ambition hold a wand; He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows;
Blow here; and a churchwarden blows. "T is vanish d with conveyance neat, And on the table smokes a treat.
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, And from all pockets fills her box.
A counter in a miser's hand Grew twenty guineas at command; She bids his heir the sum retain, And 't is a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you see Take every shape but Charity; And not one thing you saw or drew, But changed from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart, With this submission own'd her art;
"Can I such matchless sleight withstand? How practice hath improved your hand! But now and then I cheat the throng; You every day, and all day long."
A FOX HUNT.
ERE yet the morning peep,
Or stars retire from the first blush of day, With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack,
And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse,
Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze, With silence lead thy many-colour'd hounds, In all their beauty's pride. See! how they range Dispersed, how busily this way, and that, They cross, examining with curious nose Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry More nobly full, and swell'd with every mouth. As straggling armies, at the trumpet's voice, Press to their standard; hither all repair,
And hurry through the woods; with hasty step Rustling, and full of hope; now driven on heaps They push, they strive; while from his kennel sneaks The conscious villain. See! he skulks along, Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals Purloin'd. So thrive the wicked here below. Though high his brush he bear, though tipp'd with white,
It gaily shine; yet ere the sun declined
Recall the shades of night, the pamper'd rogue Shall rue his fate reversed; and at his heels Behold the just avenger, swift to seize His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood.
In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barr'd Impregnable, nor is the covert safe;
He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away.
Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound
Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack. "Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths, Now give a loose to the clean generous steed; Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur; But, in the madness of delight, forget
Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range, And dangerous our course; but in the brave True courage never fails. In vain the stream In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch, Wide gaping, threatens death. The craggy steep,
Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care, And clings to every twig, gives us no pain; But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold To pounce his prey. Then up th' opponent hill, By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft: So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink Adown the steepy wave, then, toss'd on high, Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.
What lengths we pass! where will the wandering chase
Lead us bewilder'd! smooth as swallows skim
The new-shorn mead, and far more swift, we fly. See my brave pack; how to the head they press, Jostling in close array, then more diffuse
Obliquely wheel, while from their opening mouths The vollied thunder breaks. So when the cranes Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind The hunter-crew, wide-straggling o'er the plain! The panting courser now with trembling nerves Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur,
Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams, The big round drops run trickling down his sides, With sweat and blood distain'd. Look back and view The strange confusion of the vale below, Where sour vexation reigns; see yon poor jade, In vain th' impatient rider frets and swears; With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides; He can no more: his stiff unpliant limbs Rooted in earth, unmoved and fix'd he stands, For every cruel curse returns a groan,
And sobs, and faints, and dies. Who without grief Can view that pamper'd steed, his master's joy, His minion, and his daily care, well clothed, Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost, No labour spared; who, when the flying chase Broke from the copse, without a rival led The numerous train: now a sad spectacle Of pride brought low, and humble insolence
Drove like a pannier'd ass, and scourged along. While these, with loosen'd reins and dangling heels, Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear Their weights: another in the treacherous bog Lies floundering half engulf'd. What biting thoughts Torment th' abandon'd crew! Old age laments His vigour spent: the tall, plump brawny youth Curses his cumberous bulk; and envies now The short pygmean race, he whilom kenn'd With proud insulting leer. A chosen few Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman, from this height Observe yon birds of prey; if I can judge, "Tis there the villain lurks: they hover round, And claim him as their own. Was I not right? See! there he creeps along; his brush he drags, And sweeps the mire impure; from his wide jaws, His tongue unmoisten'd hangs; symptoms too sure Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields To black despair. But one loose more, and all His wiles are vain. Hark! through yon village now The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots, And leafless elms, return the joyous sounds. Through every homestall, and through every yard, His midnight walks, panting forlorn, he flies; Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes Plunging he wades besmear'd, and fondly hopes In a superior stench to lose his own:
But, faithful to the track, th' unerring hounds With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue. And now distress'd, no sheltering covert near, Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls, with gore Distain'd, attest his guilt. There, villain, there Expect thy fate deserved. And soon from thence The pack inquisitive, with clamour loud,
Drag out their trembling prize; and on his blood With greedy transport feast. In bolder notes Each sounding horn proclaims the felon dead: And all th' assembled village shouts for joy. The farmer, who beholds his mortal foe
Stretch'd at his feet, applauds the glorious deed, And grateful calls us to a short repast: In the full glass the liquid amber smiles, Our native product. And his good old mate With choicest viands heaps the liberal board, To crown our triumphs, and reward our toils. SOMERVILLE.
THE DANGEROUS EFFECTS OF FANCY. WOE to the youth, whom Fancy gains, Winning from reason's hand the reins, Pity and woe! for such a mind
Is soft, contemplative, and kind; And woe to those who train such youth, And spare to press the rights of truth, The mind to strengthen and anneal, While on the stithy glows the steel! O teach him, while your lessons last, To judge the present by the past; Remind him of each wish pursued, How rich it glow'd with promised good; Remind him of each wish enjoy'd, How soon his hopes possession cloy'd! Tell him, we play unequal game, Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim; And, ere he strip him for his race, Show the conditions of the chase. Two sisters by the goal are set, Cold Disappointment and Regret; One disenchants the winner's eyes, And strips of all its worth the prize, While one augments its gaudy show, More to enhance the loser's woe. The victor sees his fairy gold
Transform'd, when won, to drossy mould; But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss, And rues, as gold, that glittering dross.
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