And they that creep, and they that fly,

Shall end where they began.

Alike the Busy and the Gay

But flutter through life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colors dress'd
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.

Methinks I hear, in accents low,

The sportive kind reply:

Poor moralist! and what art thou?

A solitary fly!

Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets,

No painted plumage to display:
On hasty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-

We frolic while 'tis May. 8*

On the Death of a Eaborite Eat,

DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES.

"TWAS on a lofty vase's side,

Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,

The pensive Selima, reclined,

Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared d;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,

Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw; and purr'd applause.

Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide

Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream:

Their scaly armor'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 favorite has no friend!

From hence ye beauties, undeceived,

Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,

And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize,

Nor all that glisters, gold.

On a Distant Prospect of Eton College.

*Ανθρωπος, ἱκανὴ πρόφασις εἰς τὸ δυστυχεῖν.

YE distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade,

Where grateful science still adores

Her Henry's* holy shade;

And ye, that from the stately brow

MENANDER.

Of Windsor's heights the' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way:

*King Henry the Sixth, founder of the College.