From the albatross wearied in its flight, to the | Liveth there no advocate for him? no judge to wren in her covered nest, avenge his wrongs? From the death-moth and lace-winged dragon-fly, No voice that shall be heard in his defense? no to the lady-bird and the gnat, sentence to be passed on his oppressor? The verdict of all things is unanimous, finding Yea, the sad eye of the tortured pleadeth patheti their master cruel : cally for him; The dog, thy humble friend, thy trusting, honest Yea, all the justice in heaven is roused in indigfriend; nation at his woes; The ass, thine uncomplaining slave, drudging Yea, all the pity upon earth shall call down a from morn to even; curse upon the cruel; The lamb, and the timorous hare, and the laboring Yea, the burning malice of the wicked is their ox at plow; The speckled trout basking in the shallow, and And all things that minister alike to thy life and Testify with one sad voice that man is a cruel master. Verily, they are all thine freely mayst thou serve thee of them all: own exceeding punishment. The Angel of Mercy stoppeth not to comfort, but MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER, PLEA FOR THE ANIMALS. FROM "THE SEASONS." ENSANGUINED man Is now become the lion of the plain, They are thine by gift for thy needs, to be used And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold in all gratitude and kindness; Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk, Gratitude to their God and thine, their Father and thy Father, Kindness to them who toil for thee, and help thee with their all : For meat, but not by wantonness of slaying; for For a dog cannot plead his own right, nor render Nor give a soft answer unto wrath, to turn aside the undeserved lash; The galled ox cannot complain, nor supplicate a The spent horse hideth his distress, till he panteth toil, If ingratitude forget his services, he cannot bring them to remembrance : Behold, he is faint with hunger; the big tear standeth in his eye; His skin is sore with stripes, and he tottereth beneath his burden; At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs, With hunger stung and wild necessity; form! Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven, To merit death? you who have given us milk What have ye done? ye peaceful people, what, Against the winter's cold? And the plain ox, In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat In what has he offended? he whose toil, That harmless, honest, guileless animal, Patient and ever-ready, clothes the land With all the pomp of harvest, - shall he bleed, Yet once more mutely and meekly endureth he Even of the clown he feeds? and that, perhaps, And struggling groan beneath the cruel hand, His limbs are stiff with age, his sinews have lost their vigor, And pain is stamped upon his face, while he wrestleth unequally with toil; the crushing blow; That struggle hath cracked his heart-strings, the generous brute is dead! DUELING. FROM "CONVERSATION." THE point of honor has been deemed of use, To teach good manners, and to curb abuse; Admit it true, the consequence is clear, Our polished manners are a mask we wear, And, at the bottom, barbarous still and rude, We are restrained, indeed, but not subdued. The very remedy, however sure, Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, And savage in its principle appears, Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. "T is hard, indeed, if nothing will defend Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end; That now and then a hero must decease, That the surviving world may live in peace. Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show The practice dastardly and mean and low; That men engage in it compelled by force, And fear, not courage, is its proper source; The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer; At least, to trample on our Maker's laws, And hazard life for any or no cause, To rush into a fixed eternal state Out of the very flames of rage and hate, Or send another shivering to the bar With all the guilt of such unnatural war, Whatever Use may urge, or Honor plead, On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. Am I to set my life upon a throw Because a bear is rude and surly? No,A moral, sensible, and well-bred man Will not affront me; and no other can. Were I empowered to regulate the lists, They should encounter with well-loaded fists; A Trojan combat would be something new, Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue; Then each might show, to his admiring friends, In honorable bumps his rich amends, And carry, in contusions of his skull, A satisfactory receipt in full. GOLD. WILLIAM Cowper. FROM "MISS KILMANSEGG." GOLD! gold gold! gold! IN this one passion man can strength enjoy, Old politicians chew on wisdom past, Behold a reverend sire, whom want of grace A salmon's belly, Helluo, was thy fate. The doctor, called, declares all help too late. Mercy!" cries Helluo, "mercy on my soul! Is there no hope?--Alas!-- then bring the jowl." The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, Still tries to save the hallowed taper's end, Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, For one puff more, and in that puff expires. "Odious! in woolen! 't would a saint provoke," Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke; "No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead, And Betty give this cheek a little red.” The courtier smooth, who forty years had shined An humble servant to all human-kind, Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue Pitholeon libelled me — "But here's a letter FROM THE "PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES." SHUT, shut the door, good John! fatigued I said, By land, by water, they renew the charge, Is there a parson much be-mused in beer, A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped, If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead. Informs you, sir, 't was when he knew no better. print it, 66 And shame the fools. Your interest, sir, with Lintot." Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much: Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch." 66 All my demurs but double his attacks; At last he whispers, "Do; and we go snacks." Who shames a scribbler? break one cobweb through, He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew : Of all mad creatures, if the learned are right, ALEXANDER POPE. QUACK MEDICINES. FROM "THE BOROUGH." The nostrum takes no trifling part away; See! those square patent bottles from the shop BUT now our Quacks are gamesters, and they And there a favorite hoard you'll find within, play With monstrous promise they delude the mind, its power." "I fear to die." "Let not your spirits sink, You're always safe while you believe and drink." How strange to add, in this nefarious trade, That men of parts are dupes by dunces made: That creatures nature meant should clean our streets Companions meet! the julep and the gin. Suppose the case surpasses human skill, There comes a quack to flatter weakness still; What greater evil can a flatterer do, Than from himself to take the sufferer's view? To turn from sacred thoughts his reasoning powers, And rob a sinner of his dying hours? Observe what ills to nervous females flow, And when denied, then drams are the resource. Have purchased lands and mansions, parks and Then the good nurse (who, had she borne a brain, And then in many a paper through the year, Their liver all one scirrhus, and the frame Troubled with something in your bile or blood, It makes you better every time you drink; Had sought the cause that made her babe complain) Has all her efforts, loving soul! applied What then our hopes?—perhaps there may by law Be method found these pests to curb and awe; expose. Perhaps their numbers may in time confound Their arts, -as scorpions give themselves the wound; For when these curers dwell in every place, No class escapes them - from the poor man's And spoil the fruits of this nefarious trade. pay GEORGE CRABBE SLEEPLESS DREAMS. SILLY FAIR. GIRT in dark growths, yet glimmering with one WHEN Lesbia first I saw so heavenly fair, star, O night desirous as the night of youth! Why should my heart within thy spell, forsooth, Now beat, as the bride's finger-pulses are Quickened within the girdling golden bar? What wings are these that fan my pillow smooth? And why does Sleep, waved back by Joy and Ruth, Tread softly round and gaze at me from far? Nay, night deep-leaved! And would Love feign in thee Some shadowy palpitating grove that bears And watered with the wasteful warmth of tears? DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. THE cunning hand that carved this face, A little helmeted Minerva, The hand, I say, ere Phidias wrought, Had lost its subtile skill and fervor. Who was he? Was he glad or sad, Who knew to carve in such a fashion? Perchance he shaped this dainty head For some brown girl that scorned his passion. But he is dust: we may not know His happy or unhappy story: Nameless, and dead these thousand years, His work outlives him, there's his glory! Both man and jewel lay in earth Beneath a lava-buried city; The years wiped out the man, but left To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom ! O Roman brother! see how Time Has come, at last, to be rewarded! Who would not suffer slights of men, On such a bosom rise and fall so! With eyes so bright, and with that awful air, And what her eyes enthralled her tongue unbound. WILLIAM CONGREVE THE TOOTHACHE. My curse upon thy venomed stang When fevers burn, or ague freezes, But thee, thou hell o' a' diseases, Aye mocks our groan. Adown my beard the slavers trickle; I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, While, raving mad, I wish a heckle O' a' the numerous human dools, ROBERT BURNS. TO THE UNCO GUID. My son, these maxims make a rule The Rigid Wise anither: SOLOMON, Eccles. vii. 16 O YE wha are sae guid yoursel', Ye 've nought to do but mark and tell |