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The Works of William Mason

... In Four Volumes

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STANZAS, WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE CAM, 1746.
  
  
  
  
  
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176

STANZAS, WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE CAM, 1746.

To court, in May's mild month, the Muse
Along the sedgy bank I stray'd,
Where slow-pac'd Cam his course pursues
Amid the daisy-painted mead.
High o'er my head, the Solar sphere
Flung far and wide his sparkling beams;
His sparkling beams as bright appear
Reflected from the silver streams.
Below each languid Zephyr died,
Each slender reed forgot to play,
Without a rill the even tide
Slided silently away.
Yet, from its surface to its base,
So clear the chrystal fluid spread,
My gazing eye, distinct could trace
The finny inmates of its bed.

177

At length the Muse her votary join'd,
With me the busy scene she view'd,
And, fancy waking in my mind,
A flow of numbers thus ensued.
“See, how those rose-finn'd perch delight
“High as th' incumbent air to glide,
“Each leaf each straw their chase excite,
“That bouyant sail along the tide.
“On Learning's surface thus the youth
“Too oft devotes each precious hour,
“For modern whim scorns ancient truth,
“And quits the fruit, to smell the flower.
“But hark! I heard a bubbling noise,
“How quick yon trout pursu'd a fly!
“Yet see! the nimble insect plies
“His wing, and safe ascends the sky.
“Say, Muse! to what shall we compare
“The scaly fool's successless aim?
“Tis thus that all deluded are,
“Who merely act, or write for fame.
“See far below, yon eel conceal'd
“In mud its circling volume leads,
“Now thro' the water half reveal'd,
“Now tangled in a grove of reeds;

178

“So fares the man, who, gravely vain,
“Thro' each profound of Learning wanders,
“Scruples and doubts perplex his brain
“In long and intricate meanders.
“There too a half-gorg'd pike appears,
“Whose maw or frogs or gudgeons sate,
“After a labouring length of years,
“Such is the musty pedant's fate.
“But see, its height and depth between,
“Yon scaly tribe or pause or play,
“Now hanging in the fluid scene,
“Now straying as its currents stray;
“Their course no straws divert above,
“No mud, or reeds obstruct below,
“Freely their oary fins they move,
“As nature dictates, swift or slow.
“So, through life's current let me glide,
“Nor sink too low, nor rise too high,
“Safe if Content my progress guide,
“And golden Mediocrity.”