That fage they feem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at laft they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; When thus a mutton, ftatelier than the rest, Aram, the ewes and wethers, fad, address'd. Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard Sounds fuch as these, so worthy to be fear'd. Could I believe, that winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prifon-house below arife, With all these hideous howlings to the skies, I could be much compos'd, nor should appear For fuch a cause to feel the flightest fear. Yourfelves have feen, what time the thunders roll'd All night, me resting quiet in the fold. Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, I could expound the melancholy tone; Should deem it by our old companion made, The ass; for he, we know, has lately stray'd, And being loft, perhaps, and wand'ring wide, Might be suppos'd to clamour for a guide. But ah! those dreadful yells what foul can hear, That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear?.

Dæmons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd
And fang'd with brass the dæmons are abroad;
I hold it, therefore, wisest and most fit,
That, life to fave, we leap into the pit.
Him answer'd then his loving mate and true,
But more difcreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
How? leap into the pit our life to save?
To save our life leap all into the grave?
For can we find it lefs? Contemplate first
The depth how awful! falling there, we burst;
Or should the brambles, interpos'd, our fall
In part abate, that happiness were small;
For with a race like theirs no chance I fee
Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whose it may,
And rush those other founds, that feem-by tongues
Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs,
Sounds are but founds, and till the cause appear,
We have at leaft commodious standing here;
Come, fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blaft
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last.
While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals,
For Reynard, close attended at his heels,

6

By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse,
Through nere good fortune, took a diffrent course.
The flock grew calin again, and I, the road
Following that led me to my own abode,
Much wonder'd that the filly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty found,
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.

MORAL.

Beware of desp'rate steps. The darkest day (Live till to-morrow) will have pass'd away.

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.

NO FABLE.

THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's filent tide,

When, scap'd from literary cares,
I wander'd on his fide.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,

And high in pedigree,

(Two nymphs*, adorn'd with ev'ry grace, That spaniel found for me)

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into fight

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a flower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown;
Their beauties I intent survey'd,
And one I wish'd my own.

With cane extended far I fought

To steer it close to land;
But still the prize, tho' nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains
With fixt confid'rate face,

And puzzling sat his puppy brains

To comprehend the cafe.

Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.

But with a chirrup clear and strong,
Difperfing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and follow'd long
The windings of the stream.

My ramble finish'd, I return'd.

Beau trotting far before
The floating wreath again difcern'd,
And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd

Impatient swim to meet

My quick approach, and foon he dropp'd The treafure at my feet.

Charm'd with the fight, the world, I cried, Shall hear of this thy deed,

My dog shall mortify the pride

Of man's fuperior breed;

But, chief, myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,

To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.