 | The poems of Dr. Yalden |  |
FABLE I. THE RIVER AND THE FOUNTAINS.
A river, insolent with pride,
The Fountain and its Springs defied;
That Fountain, from whose watery bed
Th' ungrateful Flood was daily fed.
The Fountain and its Springs defied;
That Fountain, from whose watery bed
Th' ungrateful Flood was daily fed.
And thus the rabble Waves began:
“We're the delight of gods and man!
How charming do our banks appear!
How swift the stream, the flood how clear!
“We're the delight of gods and man!
How charming do our banks appear!
How swift the stream, the flood how clear!
“See how, by Nature's bounty strong,
We whirl our legion waves along:
In soft meanders winding play,
And glitter in the face of day.
We whirl our legion waves along:
In soft meanders winding play,
And glitter in the face of day.
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“But thou, poor Fountain, silly soul!
Thy head absconding in a hole,
Run'st meddling on from place to place,
Asham'd to show thy dirty face;
In rocks and gloomy caverns found,
Thou creep'st inglorious under ground:
D' you hear? henceforth your lords obey!
We the grand Waves assume the sway.”
Thy head absconding in a hole,
Run'st meddling on from place to place,
Asham'd to show thy dirty face;
In rocks and gloomy caverns found,
Thou creep'st inglorious under ground:
D' you hear? henceforth your lords obey!
We the grand Waves assume the sway.”
“Well, angry sirs, the Fountain cry'd,
And how's your streams to be supply'd?
Ye senseless fools, that would command,
Should I withdraw my bounteous hand,
Or backward turn my watery store,
That hour you'd cease, and be no more.
Go ask that blustering fop the Wind,
That puts this whimsy in your mind,
And makes your factious surges rise,
If he'll recruit you with supplies.
And how's your streams to be supply'd?
Ye senseless fools, that would command,
Should I withdraw my bounteous hand,
Or backward turn my watery store,
That hour you'd cease, and be no more.
Go ask that blustering fop the Wind,
That puts this whimsy in your mind,
And makes your factious surges rise,
If he'll recruit you with supplies.
“And when to native mud you turn,
Such as a common-sewer would scorn,
Too late you'll curse this frantic whim,
When carriers' steeds shall piss a nobler stream.
Such as a common-sewer would scorn,
Too late you'll curse this frantic whim,
When carriers' steeds shall piss a nobler stream.
THE MORAL.
Unhappy Britain! I deplore thy fate,When juries pack'd, and brib'd, insult thy state:
Like waves tumultuous, insolently wise,
They tutor kings, and senators advise;
Whilst old republicans direct the stream,
Not France and Rome, but monarchy's their aim:
Fools rode by knaves! and paid as they deserve,
Despis'd whilst us'd! then left to hang or starve.
| The poems of Dr. Yalden | |