Poems By Edward Quillinan. With a Memoir by William Johnston |
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ADDRESS TO A PONY. |
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ADDRESS TO A PONY.
Climb, pigmy steed! strain up each rocky ledge!
Ambition browses on imperial heights;
Goodwill and courage are the plumes that fledge
Small hippogriffs like thee for daring flights.
Ambition browses on imperial heights;
Goodwill and courage are the plumes that fledge
Small hippogriffs like thee for daring flights.
Dwarfs conquer giants by their strength of heart;
If thou art emulous of like renown,
Climb, Pony, climb! achieve a glorious part,
And plant thy hoof on proud Helvellyn's crown.
If thou art emulous of like renown,
Climb, Pony, climb! achieve a glorious part,
And plant thy hoof on proud Helvellyn's crown.
Almost as light a freight is thine to-day
As thou art wont to bear on many a hill,
Although for once 'tis not thine own blithe Fay,
The sunny sylphid of the sunless ghyll.
As thou art wont to bear on many a hill,
Although for once 'tis not thine own blithe Fay,
The sunny sylphid of the sunless ghyll.
136
Thou bear'st an Oread panting for the gales
That blow so purely there twixt fell and sky;
Region forbid to Her, unless avails
Thy might to lift her weaken'd frame so high.
That blow so purely there twixt fell and sky;
Region forbid to Her, unless avails
Thy might to lift her weaken'd frame so high.
No vulgar charge is she for equine back,
The very daughter of the Moorland Bard,
Who, murmuring verse, now follows in thy track:
(Oft has he climb'd Parnassian steeps as hard!)
The very daughter of the Moorland Bard,
Who, murmuring verse, now follows in thy track:
(Oft has he climb'd Parnassian steeps as hard!)
Ev'n now his song is of a deathless horse
That bore the victor on the Belgic field:—
Climb, Pony, climb! and thine heroic force
A theme as worthy of his lay shall yield.
That bore the victor on the Belgic field:—
Climb, Pony, climb! and thine heroic force
A theme as worthy of his lay shall yield.
Achilles' steeds survive in Homer's voice;
Olympic racers live in Pindar's breath:—
Is immortality like theirs thy choice?
Climb, Pony, climb! and save thy name from death.
Olympic racers live in Pindar's breath:—
Is immortality like theirs thy choice?
Climb, Pony, climb! and save thy name from death.
137
So—halt and breathe—the first ascent is won,
Hark, infant Rotha crows applausive glee;
Now start again—now zig-zag—bravely done!
Crop now the herb, scant earnest of large fee.
Hark, infant Rotha crows applausive glee;
Now start again—now zig-zag—bravely done!
Crop now the herb, scant earnest of large fee.
Now for another stubborn tug—take heed—
A bright green swamp before thee lies—come round—
These crags, though rude, may better serve our need;
Oft are the roughest friends the truest found.
A bright green swamp before thee lies—come round—
These crags, though rude, may better serve our need;
Oft are the roughest friends the truest found.
Climb, Pony, climb! bend well the limber knee,
Yon aged Poet watches thee with joy;
And haply meditates that thou shalt be
Matched with the Pony of his Idiot Boy.
Yon aged Poet watches thee with joy;
And haply meditates that thou shalt be
Matched with the Pony of his Idiot Boy.
How now, ungracious Imp! what means that kick?
Forelegs at stand! hind heels aloft in air!
Would'st thou dislodge thy rider by a trick,
As if elusive of reward so fair.
Forelegs at stand! hind heels aloft in air!
Would'st thou dislodge thy rider by a trick,
As if elusive of reward so fair.
138
Would'st thou then forfeit ages of acclaim
For present ease, void saddle, and free rein?
Perish the thought! tenacious of thy fame,
Thy rider sits unmoved—that plunge is vain.
For present ease, void saddle, and free rein?
Perish the thought! tenacious of thy fame,
Thy rider sits unmoved—that plunge is vain.
Earth and her feet are strangers till thou reach
The elastic sward on yonder topmost head;
Be wise and gentle, Pony! all and each,
Both man and beast, must toil for praise and bread.
The elastic sward on yonder topmost head;
Be wise and gentle, Pony! all and each,
Both man and beast, must toil for praise and bread.
Ev'n while I moralise, we touch the end;
Down, freshly winnowing now, the breezes come,
Like angels that invisibly descend
To tempt man upward, whispering of their home.
Down, freshly winnowing now, the breezes come,
Like angels that invisibly descend
To tempt man upward, whispering of their home.
Now, Dora, now, thy palfrey's task is o'er!
The wide commanding ridge of peaks is gain'd;
The very crowning pinnacle, no more
A fancy sigh'd for, but a prize attain'd!
The wide commanding ridge of peaks is gain'd;
The very crowning pinnacle, no more
A fancy sigh'd for, but a prize attain'd!
August, 31st, 1840.
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