The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
 | I. |
|
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
|
| III. |
|
| IV. |
 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
This said, and roving round, he spies
An object that engag'd his eyes.
Within a glass a moving being,
Sluggish and black; which Bizzon seeing,
Perch'd on the bottle, gaz'd with mock,
And thus the foppish flutterer spoke:
‘And what art thou, poor grov'lling creature,
Of such detested hue and feature;
That sunk amid that putrid fluid,
So closely cramm'd, so irksome bowèd,
Scarce seems to move thro' scanty water?
An ugly hulk of lifeless matter;
Shame thus to loll, while summer hours,
Invite thee forth, thro' blooming flow'rs,
Enrapt to rove; or, where the field
Of blossom'd beans their fragrance yield;
Or wanton in the noontide beam,
Or skim along the glitt'ring stream
With boundless sweep.—But thou, lone wretch!
Must here remain, till Death shall fetch
Thee from this hold, with furious ire,
And tread thy carcase in the mire:
A life like this what beast could dree,
'Twere death and worse to aught but thee.’
An object that engag'd his eyes.
Within a glass a moving being,
Sluggish and black; which Bizzon seeing,
Perch'd on the bottle, gaz'd with mock,
And thus the foppish flutterer spoke:
‘And what art thou, poor grov'lling creature,
Of such detested hue and feature;
That sunk amid that putrid fluid,
So closely cramm'd, so irksome bowèd,
Scarce seems to move thro' scanty water?
An ugly hulk of lifeless matter;
Shame thus to loll, while summer hours,
Invite thee forth, thro' blooming flow'rs,
Enrapt to rove; or, where the field
Of blossom'd beans their fragrance yield;
Or wanton in the noontide beam,
Or skim along the glitt'ring stream
With boundless sweep.—But thou, lone wretch!
Must here remain, till Death shall fetch
Thee from this hold, with furious ire,
And tread thy carcase in the mire:
A life like this what beast could dree,
'Twere death and worse to aught but thee.’
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |