IMITATED FROM THE WELCH. If, while my passion I impart, You deem my words untrue, O place your hand upon my Feel how it throbs for heart you! Ah no reject the thoughtless claim In pity to your Lover! That thrilling touch would aid the flame, It wishes to discover. To a YOUNG ASS, ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT. Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race! Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate? The starving meal, and all the thousand aches "Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes? Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain To see thy wretched MOTHER'S shorten'd Chain? And truly, very piteous is her Lot Chain'd to a Log within a narrow spot Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen, While sweet around her waves the tempting Green! For much I fear me, that He lives, like thee, How askingly its footsteps hither bend? It seems to say, "And have I then one Friend?" Innocent Foal! thou poor despis'd Forlorn! I hail thee BROTHER-spite of the fool's scorn! And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell, Where TOIL shall call the charmer HEALTH his Bride, And LAUGHTER tickle PLENTY's ribless side! How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play, And frisk about, as Lamb or Kitten gay! Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be, The aching of pale FASHION's vacant breast! December, 1794. TO AN INFANT. Ah cease thy Tears and Sobs, my little Life! And rouse the stormy Sense of shrill Affright! |