What every wife should be, what many are. And sure the Parent of a race so sweet
With double pleasure on the page shall dwell, 10
Each scene with sympathizing breast shall meet,
While Reason still with smiles delights to tell
Maternal hope, that her loved progeny
In all but sorrows shall Amelias be!
WRITTEN AFTER A WALK BEFORE SUPPER
Tho’ much averse, dear Jack, to flicker,
To find a likeness for friend V — ker,
I’ve made thro’ Earth, and Air, and Sea,
A Voyage of Discovery!
And let me add (to ward off strife) 5
For V — ker and for V — ker’s Wife —
She large and round beyond belief,
A superfluity of beef!
Her mind and body of a piece,
And both composed of kitchen-grease. 10
In short, Dame Truth might safely dub her
Vulgarity enshrin’d in blubber!
He, meagre bit of littleness,
All snuff, and musk, and politesse;
So thin, that strip him of his clothing, 15
He’d totter on the edge of Nothing!
In case of foe, he well might hide
Snug in the collops of her side.
Ah then, what simile will suit?
Spindle-leg in great jack-boot? 20
Pismire crawling in a rut?
Or a spigot in a butt?
Thus I humm’d and ha’d awhile,
When Madam Memory with a smile
Thus twitch’d my ear—’Why sure, I ween, 25
In London streets thou oft hast seen
The very image of this pair:
A little Ape with huge She-Bear
Link’d by hapless chain together:
An unlick’d mass the one — the other 30
An antic small with nimble crupper — —’
But stop, my Muse! for here comes supper.
1793
IMITATED FROM OSSIAN
The stream with languid murmur creeps,
In Lumin’s flowery vale:
Beneath the dew the Lily weeps
Slow-waving to the gale.
‘Cease, restless gale!’ it seems to say, 5
‘Nor wake me with thy sighing!
The honours of my vernal day
On rapid wing are flying.
‘Tomorrow shall the Traveller come
Who late beheld me blooming: 10
His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin.’
With eager gaze and wetted cheek
My wonted haunts along,
Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek 15
The Youth of simplest song.
But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;
And dwell, the Moonbeam of thy soul,
In Slumber’s nightly hour. 20
THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHÓMA:FROM THE SAME
How long will ye round me be swelling,
O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma 5
In the steps of my beauty I strayed;
The warriors beheld Ninathóma,
And they blesséd the white-bosom’d Maid!
A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
In moonbeams the Spirit was drest — 10
For lovely appear the Departed
When they visit the dreams of my rest!
But disturb’d by the tempest’s commotion
Fleet the shadowy forms of delight —
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean! 15
To howl through my cavern by night.
SONGS OF THE PIXIES
The Pixies, in the superstition of Devonshire, are a race of beings
invisibly small, and harmless or friendly to man. At a small distance
from a village in that county, half-way up a wood-covered hill, is an
excavation called the Pixies’ Parlour. The roots of old trees form its
ceiling; and on its sides are innumerable cyphers, among which the
author discovered his own cypher and those of his brothers, cut by the
hand of their childhood. At the foot of the hill flows the river Otter.
To this place the Author, during the summer months of the year 1793,
conducted a party of young ladies; one of whom, of stature elegantly
small, and of complexion colourless
