And deems it shame, if he to peace inclines: Ah me! how much I fear lest pride it be! Yet nurs'd with skill, what dazzling fruits appear! Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so, As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er shall die! Though now he crawl along the ground so low, Nor weeting how the Muse should soar on high, Wisheth, poor starveling elf! his paper kite may fly. And this perhaps, who, censuring the design, And many an epic to his rage shall yield; And many a poet quit th' Aonian field; And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What stuff is here?" But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle skie, And like a rushing torrent out they fly, Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade, But most in courts where proud Ambition towers; Deluded wight! who weens fair Peace can spring Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of king. See in each sprite some various bent appear! Some builden fragile tenements of clay; Some to the standing lake their courses bend, With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to play; Thilk to the huxter's savory cottage tend, In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to spend. Here, as each season yields a different store, O may no wight e'er penniless come there, Seel cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, With thread so white in tempting posies tied, Scattering like blooming maid their glances round, With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside; And must be bought, though penury betide. The plume all azure, and the nut all brown, And here each season do those cakes abide, Whose honored names* th' inventive city own, Rendering through Britain's isle Salopia's praises known; Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave, Famed for her loyal cares in perils tried, Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave: Ah! 'midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave Whose heart did first these dulcet cates display! A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave, Who cheerless o'er her darkling region stray; Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on their way. WILLIAM SHENSTONE. The Chameleon. OFT has it been my lot to mark Returning from his finished tour, * Shrewsbury cakes. "Sir, if my judgment you 'll allow, Two travelers of such a cast, "Hold, there," the other quick replies, "'T is green, I saw it with these eyes, As late with open mouth it lay, And warmed it in the sunny ray: Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed And saw it eat the air for food." "I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue; At leisure I the beast surveyed, Extended in the cooling shade." "'T is green, 't is green, sir, I assure ye!” "Green!" cries the other in a fury "Why, sir!-d' ye think I 've lost my eyes?" "'T were no great loss," the friend replies, "For, if they always serve you thus, You 'll find them of but little use." So high at last the contest rose, แ "Sirs," cries the umpire, cease your pother! I caught the animal last night, "And I'll be sworn, that when you 've seen "Well, then, at once to ease the doubt," Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise"My children," the chameleon cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue), "You all are right, and all are wrong: When next you talk of what you view, Think others see as well as you: Nor wonder, if you find that none Prefers your eyesight to his own." JAMES MERRICK. |