 | The poetical works (1829) |  |
699
MUSINGS
ON THE WIG OF A SCARE-CROW.
Alas for this world's changes and the lotOf sublunary things! Yon Wig that there
Moves with each motion of the inconstant air,
Invites my pensive mind to serious thought.
Was it for this its curious cawl was wrought,
Close as the tender tendrils of the vine,
With clustered curls? Perhaps the artist's care
Its borrowed beauties for some lady fair
Arranged with nicest art and fingers fine;
Or for the forehead framed of some Divine
Its graceful gravity of grizzled grey;
Or whether on some stern schoolmaster's brow
Sate its white terrors, who shall answer now?
On yonder rag-robed pole for many a day
Have those dishonour'd locks endur'd the rains,
And winds, and summer sun, and winter snow,
Scaring with vain alarms the robber crow,
Till of its former form no trace remains,
None of its ancient honours! I survey
Its alter'd state with moralizing eye,
And journey sorrowing on my lonely way,
And muse on Fortune's mutability.
| The poetical works (1829) | |