Still had she gazed, but midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The genii of the stream:
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue,
Through richest purple, to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
A whisker first, and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,

She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize;
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between—
Malignant fate sat by and smiled-
The slippery verge her feet beguiled;
She tumbled headlong in!

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to every watery god
Some speedy aid to send:

No dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd,
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard-

A favourite has no friend!

T. Gray

LXXXV

THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH

A fox, in life's extreme decay,

Weak, sick and faint, expiring lay;

All appetite had left his maw,
And age disarm'd his mumbling jaw.
His numerous race around him stand
To learn their dying sire's command:
He rais'd his head with whining moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone:

'Ah, sons, from evil ways depart;
My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
See, see, the murder'd geese appear!
Why are those bleeding turkeys there?
Why all around this cackling train
Who haunt my ears for chickens slain?"
The hungry foxes round them star'd,
And for the promised feast prepar'd.

'Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer? Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here. These are the phantoms of your brain; And your sons lick their lips in vain.'

'O, gluttons,' says the drooping sire, 'Restrain inordinate desire,

Your liquorish taste you shall deplore,
When peace of conscience is no more.
Does not the hound betray our paće,
And gins and guns destroy our race?
Thieves dread the searching eye of power
And never feel the quiet hour.

Old age (which few of us shall know)
Now puts a period to my woe.
Would you true happiness attain,
Let honesty your passions rein;
So live in credit and esteem,
And the good name you lost, redeem.'
'The counsel's good,' a son replies,
'Could we perform what you advise.

Think what our ancestors have done;
A line of thieves from son to son.
To us descends the long disgrace,
And infamy hath marked our race.

Though we like harmless sheep should feed,
Honest in thought, in word, in deed,
Whatever hen-roost is decreas'd,
We shall be thought to share the feast.
The change shall never be believ'd,
A lost good name is ne'er retriev'd.'
'Nay then,' replies the feeble fox,
'(But hark, I hear a hen that clucks,)
Go; but be moderate in your food;
A chicken, too, might do me good.'

J. Gay

LXXXVI

THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man Now tell me the reason, I pray.

'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied, 'I remember'd that youth would fly fast,

And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last.'

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'And pleasures with youth pass away;

And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied, I remember'd that youth could not last; I thought of the future whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.'

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried, 'And life must be hastening away;

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death, Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'I am cheerful, young man,' Father William replied, 'Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God,
And He hath not forgotten my age.'

R. Southey

LXXXVII

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE

I

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade !
Charge for the guns!' he said:
Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

2

'Forward, the Light Brigade !'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not though the soldier knew

Some one had blunder'd.

Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery smoke,
Right through the line they broke ;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd ;

Then they rode back, but not-
Not the six hundred.

5

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,