But, thou, who own'st that earthly bed,
Ah! what will every dirge avail?
Or tears, which love and pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail!
Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near?
With him, sweet bard, may fancy die,
And joy desert the blooming year.
But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide
No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill's side,
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!
And see, the fairy valleys fade,
Dun night has veil'd the solemn view!
Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek nature's child, again adieu !
The genial meads, assign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom!
Their hinds and shepherd girls shall dress
With simple hands thy rural tomb.
Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes.
O! vales, and wild woods, shall he say,
In yonder grave a Druid lies!
HASSAN, THE CAMEL-DRIVER.
In silent horror o'er the boundless waste
The driver Hassan with his camels pass'd;
One cruse of water on his back he bore,
And his light scrip contain'd a scanty store;
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
guard his shaded face from scorching sand.
ely sum had gain'd the middle sky,
ree and not an herb was nigh;
The beasts with pain their dusty way pursue,
Shrill roared the winds, and dreary was the view.
With desp❜rate sorrow wild, th' affrighted man
Thrice sigh'd, thrice struck his breast, and thus began:
"Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Shiraz' walls I bent my way !
"Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind,
The thirst or pinching hunger that I find !
Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage,
When fails this cruse, his unrelenting rage?
Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign,
Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine?
Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear
In all my griefs a more than equal share!
Here, where no springs in murmurs break away,
Or moss-crown'd fountains mitigate the day,
In vain ye hope the green delights to know
Which plains more blest or verdant vales bestow.
Here rocks alone and tasteless sands are found,
And faint and sickly winds for ever howl around.
O cease, my fears! all frantic as I go,
When thought creates unnumber'd scenes of wo,
What if the lion in his rage I meet?
Oft in the dust I view his printed feet :
And fearful! oft when day's declining light
Yields her pale empire to the mourner night,
By hunger rous'd he scours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train.
At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep,
If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep;
Or some swollen serpent twist his scales around,
And wake to anguish with a burning wound.
Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor,
From lust of wealth and dread of death secure !
They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find;
Peace rules the day where reason rules the mind.
Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day,
When first from Shiraz' walls I bent my way."
It is well known that in the wide tract which intervenes between the Mediterranean and Persia, there are vast tracts, lonely, sandy, and parched by the absence of water and shade, which men, tempted by the love of gain, are induced to traverse; and that some inland commerce is thus carried on between the western Asiatics and those of the interior. The merchants or their agents, usually travel in caravans, or large companies, but Mr. Collins supposes his Camel-Driver to undertake a journey alone, and he describes his fears and his actual sufferings, in a manner which is intelligible and affecting,
Born A. D. 1688-Died 1732.
No great importance is now attached to the name of Gay, and he would not probably have been known to readers of the present age, if he had not been a favourite of his contemporaries. Pope was his friend, he survived him, and wrote an Epitaph in honour of his memory. In the Epitaph he is described as a safe companion, and an easy friend.' This faint, and common-place praise, seemed to Dr. Johnson, the biographer and critic of English poets, to be very insignificant, but it records the amiableness of Mr. Gay's disposition and manners, and leads us to remember his goodness when we are forced to confess his want of talent in any elevated sense, for he possessed the talent to amuse the public of his own time. He wrote a dramatic piece called the Beggar's Opera, which was often exhibited, and extremely admired during the author's life, but it has now fallen into oblivion. Gay's Fables have been very popular. They were written for a young prince, are mostly political, and not very plain or pointed in their meaning. only are selected for this volume.
THE BUTTERFLY AND SNAIL.
"All upstarts, insolent in place,
Remind us of their vulgar race.
As in the sunshine of the morn
A butterfly (but newly born)
Sat proudly perking on a rose,
With pert conceit his bosom glows;
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he displays; the spangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.
His now-forgotten friend, a snail,
Beneath his house, with slimy trail,
Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies,
In wrath he to the gardener cries :
"What means yon peasant's daily toil,
From choking weeds to rid the soil?
Why wake you to the morning's care ?
Why with new arts correct the year?
Why grows the peach with crimson hue ?
And why the plum's inviting blue?
Were they to feast his taste design'd,
That vermin of voracious kind!
Crush then the slow, the pilfering race,
So purge thy garden from disgrace.'
"What arrogance!" the snail reply'd ;
"How insolent is upstart pride!
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain,
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth:
For scarce nine suns had wak'd the hours,
To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
Since I thy humbler life survey'd,
In base, in sordid guise array'd;
A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
You dragg'd a slow and noisome train;
And from your spider bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and snail shall end.
And what's a butterfly at best?
He's but a caterpillar drest;
And all thy race (a numerous seed)
Shall prove of caterpillar breed."
This fable is intended for a satire upon such persons as being born in humble circumstances, and forming friendships suitable to their station, are afterwards in their own estimation exalted by wealth, and disdain their early and poorer friends.
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