THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. NO FABLE. THE noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's silent tide, I wander'd on his side. My spaniel, prettiest of his race, And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs* adorn'd with ev'ry grace Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, Now starting into sight Pursued the swallow o'er the meads With scarce a slower flight. It was the time when Ouse display'd Their beauties I intent survey'd * Sir Robert Gunning's daughters. With cane extended far I sought To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escap'd my eager hand. Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains With fix'd consid❜rate face, And puzzling set his puppy brains But with a cherup clear and strong, i thence withdrew, and follow'd long My ramble ended, I return'd; The floating wreath again discern'd, I saw him with that lily cropp'd Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd The treasure at my feet. Charm'd with the sight, the world, I cried, My dog shall mortify the pride But chief myself I will enjoin, To show a love as prompt as thine THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT. AN AN Oyster, cast upon the shore, Was heard, though never heard before, Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell For ever in my native shell; Ordain'd to move when others please, Not for my own content or ease; I envy that unfeeling shrub, Fast-rooted against ev'ry rub. The plant he meant grew not far off, Was hurt, disgusted, mortified, And with asperity replied. When, cry the botanists, and stare, Did plants call'd sensitive grow there? No matter when-a poet's muse is To make them grow just where she chooses. You that are but almost a fish, If I can feel as well as he; And when I bend, retire, and shrink, In being touch'd, and crying-Don't! O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. And your fine sense, he said, and yours, Deserves not, if so soon offended, Much to be pitied or commended. Are all upon your own account. |