That wish on some fair future day, ODE TO APOLLO. ว ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. PATRON of all those luckless brains, Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, Why, stooping from the noon of day, Too covetous of drink, Apollo, hast thou stol'n away A poet's drop of ink? Upborne into the viewless air It floats a vapour now, Impell'd through regions dense and rare, By all the winds that blow. Ordain'd perhaps ere summer flies, Combin'd with millions more, To form an Iris in the skies, Though black and foul before. Illustrious drop! and happy then Phœbus, if such be thy design, Give wit, that what is left may shine I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau 'Tis clear, that they were always able A story of a cock and bull, Must have a most uncommon skull. It chanc'd then on a winter's day, To forestal sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove, And with much twitter and much chatter, It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables, which ascribe reason and speech to animals, should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can against the evidence of his senses? At length a Bulfinch, who could boast My friends! be cautious how ye treat A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, By his good will would keep us single Till yonder Heav'n and Earth shall mingle, Or (which is likelier to befall) Till death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado, My dear Dick Redcap, what say you? Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting and sideling, Attested, glad, his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. |