THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT. AN Oyster, cast upon the shore, Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell Ordain'd to move when others please, I envy that unfeeling shrub, The plant he meant grew not far off, Was hurt, disgusted, mortified, And with asperity replied. When, cry the botanists, and stare, You that are but almost a fish, For many a grave And many a gay unletter'd spark, With curious touch examines me, If I can feel as well as he; And when I bend, retire, and shrink, In being touch'd, and crying-Don't! O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. Deserves not, if so soon offended, Much to be pitied or commended. You, in your grotto-work enclos'd, And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, Should droop and wither where they grow, The noblest minds their virtue prove His censure reach'd them as he dealt it, And each by shrinking show'd he felt it. THE SHRUBBERY. WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION, I. Oн, happy shades-to me unblest! How ill the scene, that offers rest, II. This glassy stream, that spreading pine, III. But fix'd unalterable Care Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness ev'ry where, And slights the season and the scene. IV. For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn, While Peace possess'd these silent bow'rs, Her animating smile withdrawn, Has lost it's beauties and it's pow'rs. V The saint or moralist should tread This moss-grown alley musing, slow; They seek like me the secret shade, But not like me to nourish wo! VI. Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste These tell me of enjoyments past, And those of sorrows yet to come. |