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The RoversOver the fields we go, through the sweets of the purple clover, That letters a message for us as for every vagrant rover; Before us the dells are abloom, and a leaping brook calls after, Feeling its kinship with us in lore of dreams and laughter.
Out of the valleys of moonlight elfin voices are calling; Down from the misty hills faint, far greetings are falling; Whisper the grasses to us, murmuring gleeful and airy, Knowing us pixy-led, seeking the haunts of faery.
The wind is our joyful comrade wherever our free feet wander, Over the tawny wolds to the meres and meadows yonder; The mild-eyed stars go with us, or the rain so swiftly flying, Racing us over the wastes where the hemlocks and pines are sighing.
Across the upland dim, down through the beckoning hollow- Oh, we go too far and fast for the feet of care to follow! The gypsy fire in our hearts for the wilderness wide and luring; Other loves may fail but this is great and enduring.
Other delights may pall, but the joy of the open never; The charm of the silent places must win and hold us forever; Bondage of walls we leave with never a glance behind us. Under the lucent sky the delights of the rover shall find us. Recently Added- To A Friend
I ask but one thing of you, only one, That always you will be my dream of you; That never shall I wake to find untrue All this I have believed and rested on, Forever vanished, like a vision gone Out into the night. Alas, how few There are who strike in us a chord we knew Existed, but so seldom heard its tone We tremble at the half-forgotten sound. The world is full of rude awakenings And heaven-born castles shattered to the ground, Yet still our human longing vainly clings To a belief in beauty through all wrongs. O stay your hand, and leave my heart its songs! In Friendship - 108 days ago - The Eagle, The Sow, And The Cat
THE Queen of Birds, t'encrease the Regal Stock, Had hatch'd her young Ones in a stately Oak, Whose Middle-part was by a Cat possest, And near the Root with Litter warmly drest, A teeming Sow had made her peaceful Nest. (Thus Palaces are cramm'd from Roof to Ground, And Animals, as various, in them found.) When to the Sow, who no Misfortune fear'd, Puss with her fawning Compliments appear'd, Rejoicing much at her Deliv'ry past, And that she 'scap'd so well, who bred so fast. Then every little Piglin she commends, And likens them to all their swinish Friends; Bestows good Wishes, but with Sighs implies, That some dark Fears do in her Bosom rise. Such Tempting Flesh, she cries, will Eagles spare? Methinks, good Neighbour, you should live in Care: Since I, who bring not forth such dainty Bits, Tremble for my unpalatable Chits; And had I but foreseen, the Eagle's Bed Was in this fatal Tree to have been spread; I sooner wou'd have kitten'd in the Road, Than made this Place of Danger my abode. I heard her young Ones lately cry for Pig, And pity'd you, that were so near, and big. In Friendship this I secretly reveal, Lest Pettitoes shou'd make th' ensuing Meal; Or else, perhaps, Yourself may be their aim, For a Sow's Paps has been a Dish of Fame. No more the sad, affrighted Mother hears, But overturning all with boist'rous Fears, She from her helpless Young in haste departs, Whilst Puss ascends, to practice farther Arts. The Anti-chamber pass'd, she scratch'd the Door; The Eagle, ne'er alarum'd so before, Bids her come in, and look the Cause be great, That makes her thus disturb the Royal Seat; Nor think, of Mice and Rats some pest'ring Tale Shall, in excuse of Insolence, prevail. Alas! my Gracious Lady, quoth the Cat, I think not of such Vermin; Mouse, or Rat To me are tasteless grown; nor dare I stir To use my Phangs, or to expose my Fur. A Foe intestine threatens all around, And ev'n this lofty Structure will confound; A Pestilential Sow, a meazel'd Pork On the Foundation has been long at work, Help'd by a Rabble, issu'd from her Womb, Which she has foster'd in that lower Room; Who now for Acorns are so madly bent, That soon this Tree must fall, for their Content. I wou'd have fetch'd some for th' unruly Elves; But 'tis the Mob's delight to help Themselves: Whilst your high Brood must with the meanest drop, And steeper be their Fall, as next the Top; Unless you soon to Jupiter repair, And let him know, the Case demands his Care.
Oh! May the Trunk but stand, 'till you come back! But hark! already sure, I hear it crack. Away, away---The Eagle, all agast, Soars to the Sky, nor falters in her haste: Whilst crafty Puss, now o'er the Eyry reigns, Replenishing her Maw with treach'rous Gains. The Sow she plunders next, and lives alone; The Pigs, the Eaglets, and the House her own.
Curs'd Sycophants! How wretched is the Fate Of those, who know you not, till 'tis too late! In Friendship - 108 days ago
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