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Oh ye, who never knew the joys
Fandango, ball, and rout!
To liberty without.
THE NEEDLESS ALARM.
There is a field, through which I often pass,
Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed ; Nor autumn yet had brushed from every spray, With her chill band, the mellow leaves away;
Bat corn was housed, and beans were in the stack,
The sun, accomplishing his early march,
Sheep grazed the field; some with soft bosom pressed
But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burst appeared, The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that grazed, All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed, Admiring, terrified, the novel strain, Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round again; But, recollecting with a sudden thought, The flight in circles urged advanced them nought, They gathered close around the old pit's brink, And thought again—but knew not what to think.
The inan to solitude accustomed long, Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue;
• Two woods belonging to Johu Throckmorton, Esq.
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees,
This truth premised was needful as a text,
Awhile they mused; surveying every face, Thou hadst supposed them of superior race ; Their périwigs of wool, and fears combined, Stamped on each countenance such marks of mind, That sage they seemed, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle oat; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sare ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, A ram, the ewes and wethers sad addressed.
“Friends! we have lived too long. I never heard Sounds sach as these, so worthy to be feared. Could I believe that winds for ages pent' In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prison-house below arise, With all these hideous bowlings to the skies, I could be much composed, nor should appear For such a cause to feel the slightest fear. Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolled All night, we resting quiet in the fold;
Or heard' we that tremendous bray alone,
Him answered then his loving mate and true,
“How? leap into the pit our life to save ? To save our life leap all into the grave? For can we find it less? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there, we burst: Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small; For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Mean time, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of dæmons uttered, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear We have at least commodious standing here. Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast 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 By panting dog, tired man, and spattered horse, Through mere good fortune, took'a different course. The flock grew calm again, and I, the road Following, that led me to my own abode,
Much wondered that the silly sheep had found
Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day, Live till to-morrow, will bave passed away.
WHEN the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Counsel of her country's gods,
Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Full of rage, and full of grief.
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
All the terrors of our tongues.
In the blood that she has spilt ;
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
Tramples on a thousand states;
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates;