Search Bodley's many thousands o'er!
No 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.
A NEEDLE, Small as small can be,
In bulk and use surpasses me,
Nor is my purchase dear;
For little, and almost for nought,
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 shred,
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,
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 their 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
The expenditure of every day,
And who can grudge so small a grace
To suppliants, natives of the place?
As in her ancient mistress' lap
The youthful Tabby lay,
They gave each other many a tap,
Alike disposed to play.
But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm,
And with protruded claws
Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm,
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.
But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest;
It was a venial stroke:
For she that will with kittens jest
Should bear a kitten's joke.
INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST
SWEET bird, whom the Winter constrainsAnd seldom another it can
To seek a retreat while he reigns
In the well-sheltered dwellings of man, Who never can seem to intrude,
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, compelled by a frost, Come again to my window or door, Doubt not an affectionate host,
Only pay as thou payedst 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 touched his reed; sweet Philomel
Essayed, and oft essayed 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,
And soon (for various was his tuneful store)
In loftier tones defied the simple bird.
She dared the task, and rising, as he rose,
With all the force that passion gives inspired,
Returned the sounds awhile, but in the close,
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired.
Thus strength, not skill, prevailed. O fatal strife,
By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun!
And oh, 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 BIRTHDAY, 1728
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,
Nourished 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.
If a few (to few 'tis given),
Lingering on this earthly stage,
Creep and halt with steps uneven
To the period of an age,
Wherefore live they, but to see
Cunning, arrogance, and force,
Sights lamented much by thee,
Holding their accustomed course?
Oft was seen, in ages past,
All that we with wonder view;
Often shall be to the last;
Earth produces nothing new.
Thee we gratulate; content
Should propitious Heaven design
Life for us as calmly spent,
Though but half the length of thine.
Two neighbours furiously dispute;
A field the subject of the suit.
Trivial the spot, yet such the rage
With which the combatants engage,
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