THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
No Fable.
The noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
When, 'scaped from literary cares,
I wandered on his side.
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree,—
Two nymphs[450] adorned with every grace
That spaniel found for me,—
Now wantoned, lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.
It was the time when Ouse displayed
His lilies newly blown;
Their beauties I intent surveyed,
And one I wished my own.
With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land;
But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.
Beau marked my unsuccessful pains
With fixed considerate face,
And, puzzling, set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.
But, with a chirrup clear and strong,
Dispersing all his dream,
I thence withdrew, and followed long
The windings of the stream.
My ramble ended, I returned,
Beau, trotting far before,
The floating wreath again discerned,
And plunging left the shore.
I saw him, with that lily cropped,
Impatient swim, to meet
My quick approach, and soon he dropped
The treasure at my feet.
Charmed with the sight, "The world," I cried,
"Shall hear of this thy deed;"
My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed.
But chief myself I will enjoin—
Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all."
TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.[451]
July 6, 1788.
My dear Friend,—"Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear" have compelled me to draw on you for the sum of twenty pounds, payable to John Higgins, Esq. or order. The draft bears date July 5th. You will excuse my giving you this trouble, in consideration that I am a poet, and can consequently draw for money much easier than I can earn it.
I heard of you a few days since, from Walter Bagot, who called here and told me that you were gone, I think, into Rutlandshire, to settle the accounts of a large estate unliquidated many years. Intricacies that would turn my brains are play to you. But I give you joy of a long vacation at hand, when I suppose that even you will find it pleasant, if not to be idle, at least not to be hemmed around by business.
Yours ever,
W. C.