Worthy thee! Muse, inspire Of him told, Propp'd the skies : See! and believe your eyes! See him stride Valleys wide, Over woods, Over floods! When he treads, Armies quake; Lest his spurn Man and steed: Troops, take heed! Left and right, Speed your flight! Lest an host Beneath his foot be lost! Turn'd aside From his hide Safe from wound, Darts rebound. From his nose When he eats, When he drinks, Nigh thy ear In mid air, On thy hand Let me stand; So shall I, Lofty poet! touch the sky. THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG. A PASTORAL. SOON as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care, In peals of thunder now she roars, and now And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide, While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied? "Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast! But little creatures enterprise the most. Trembling I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw, Nay, mix with children, as they play'd at taw, Nor fear the marbles as they bounding flew ; Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you! 66 Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? Who from a page can ever learn the truth? Vers'd in court tricks, that money-loving boy To some lord's daughter sold the living toy; Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, As children tear the wings of flies away. From place to place o'er Brobdingnag I'll roam, And never will return, or bring thee home. But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind? In the green thicket of a mossy stone; Or, tumbled from the toadstool's slippery round, O show me, Flora, midst those sweets, the flower Where sleeps my Grildrig in the fragrant bower. "But ah! I fear thy little fancy roves On little females, and on little loves; Hast thou for these now ventur'd from the shore, No more behold thee turn my watch's key, As seamen at a capstan anchors weigh? How wert thou wont to walk with cautious tread, A dish of tea, like milkpail, on thy head! How chase the mite that bore thy cheese away, And keep the rolling maggot at a bay!" She spoke; but broken accents stopp'd her voice, Soft as the speaking-trumpet's mellow noise: She sobb'd a storm, and wip'd her flowing eyes, Which seem'd like two broad suns in misty skies. O squander not thy grief! those tears command To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland : The plenteous pickle shall preserve the fish, And Europe taste thy sorrows in a dish. TO MR. LEMUEL GULLIVER, THE GRATEFUL ADDRESS OF THE UNHAPPY HOUYHNHNMS, NOW IN SLAVERY AND BONDAGE IN ENGLAND. To thee, we wretches of the Houyhnhnm band, Reason, you found, and virtue were the same. Art thou the first who did the coast explore? Did never Yahoo tread that ground before? |