WHEN Thurlow this damned nonsense sent,
(I hope I am not violent)
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
And since not even our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise--
Why _would_ they let him print his lays?
To me, divine Apollo, grant--O!
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining,--
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
"When Rogers o'er this labour bent,
Their purest fire the Muses lent,
T' illustrate this sweet argument."
"O melancholy bird, a winter's day
Thou standest by the margin of the pool;
And, taught by God, dost thy whole being school
To Patience, which all evil can allay:
God has appointed thee the fish thy prey;
And giv'n thyself a lesson to the fool
Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule,
And his unthinking course by thee to weigh.
There need not schools nor the professor's chair,
Though these be good, true wisdom to impart;
He, who has not enough for these to spare
Of time, or gold, may yet amend his heart,
And teach his soul by brooks and rivers fair,
Nature is always wise in every part."