« AnteriorContinuar »
When he treads,
Groan and shake:
Lest his spurn
Man and steed:
Troops, take heed!
Left and right,
Speed your flight!
Lest an host
Beneath his foot be lost.
From his hide,
Safe from wound,
From his nose
Clouds he blows:
When he speaks,
When he eats,
When he drinks,
Nigh thy ear,
In mid air,
On thy hand
Let me stand;
So shall I,
Lofty Poet, touch the sky.
THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE
LOSS OF GRILDRIG.
OON as Glum dalclitch miss'd her pleasing care,
She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair.
No British miss sincerer grief has known,
Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.
She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.
In peals of thunder now she roars, and now
She gently whimpers like a lowing cow:
Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears,
Her locks dishevell'd, and her flood of tears
Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain,
When from the thatch drips fast a shower of rain.
In vain she search'd each cranny of the house,
Each gaping chink impervious to a mouse.
"Was it for this" (she cry'd) "with daily care
Within thy reach I set the vinegar!
And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide,
While pepper-water worms thy bait supply'd;
Where twined the silver eel around thy hook,
And all the little monsters of the brook.
Sure in that lake he dropp'd; my Grilly's drown'd."
She dragg'd the cruet, but no Grildrig found.
"Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast;
But little creatures enterprise the most.
Trembling, I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw,
Nay, mix with children, as they play'd at taw,
Nor fear the marbles, as they bounding flew;
Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you.
Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth?
Who from a Page can ever learn the truth?
Versed in Court tricks, that money-loving boy
To some Lord's daughter sold the living toy;
Or rent him linib from limb in cruel play,
As children tear the wings of flies away.
From place to place o'er Brobdingnag I'll roam,
And never will return or bring thee home.
But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind?
How, then, thy fairy footsteps. can I find?
Dost thou bewilder'd wander all alone,
Perhaps all maim'd, lie grov'lling on the ground?
Dost thou, embosom'd in the lovely rose,
Or sunk within the peach's down, repose?
Within the king-cup if thy limbs are spread,
Or in the golden cowslip's velvet head:
O show me, Flora, midst those sweets, the flower
Where sleeps my Grildrig in his fragrant bower. "But ah! I fear thy little fancy roves
On little females, and on little loves;
Thy pygmy children, and thy tiny spouse,
Thy baby playthings that adorn thy house,
Hast thou for these now ventured from the shore,
Doors, windows, chimneys, and the spacious rooms,
Equal in size to cells of honeycombs.
Thy bark a bean-shell, and a straw thy oar?
Or in thy box, now bounding on the main,
Shall I ne'er bear thyself and house again?
And shall I set thee on my hand no more,
To see thee leap the lines, and traverse o'er
My spacious palm? Of stature scarce a span,
Mimic the actions of a real man?
No more behold thee turn my watch's key,
As seamen at a capstern anchors weigh?
A dish of tea like milk-pail on thy head?
How chase the mite that bore thy cheese away,
And keep the rolling maggot at a bay?"
How wert thou wont to walk with cautious tread,
She said, but broken accents stopp'd her voice,
Soft as the speaking-trumpet's mellow noise:
She sobb'd a storm, and wip'd her flowing eyes,
Which seem'd like two broad suns in misty skies.
O squander not thy grief; those tears command
To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland:
The plenteous pickle shall preserve the fish,
And Europe taste thy sorrows in a dish.
THE GRATEFUL ADDRESS OF THE UNHAPPY HOUYHNHNMS,
NOW IN SLAVERY AND BONDAGE IN ENGLAND.
"O thee, we wretches of the Houyhnhnm band,
Condemn'd to labour in a barbarous land,
Return our thanks. Accept our humble lays,
And let each grateful Houyhnhnm neigh thy praise.
O happy Yahoo, purg'd from human crimes,
By thy sweet sojourn in those virtuous climes,
Where reign our sires; there, to thy country's shame,
Reason, you found, and virtue were the same.
Their precepts raz'd the prejudice of youth,
And even a Yahoo learn'd the love of truth.
Art thou the first who did the coast explore;
Did never Yahoo tread that ground before?
Yes, thousands! But in pity to their kind,
Or sway'd by envy, or through pride of mind,
They hid their knowledge of a nobler race,
Which own'd, would all their sires and sons disgrace.
Came back, and tamed the brutes he left behind.
You went, you saw, you heard: with virtue fought,
Then spread those morals which the Houyhnhnms taught.
Our labours here must touch thy generous heart,
To see us strain before the coach and cart;
Compell'd to run each knavish jockey's heat!
Subservient to Newmarket's annual cheat!
With what reluctance do we lawyer's bear,
To fleece their country clients twice a year?
Or managed in your schools, for fops to ride,
How foam, how fret beneath a load of pride!
Yes, we are slaves-but yet, by reason's force,
Have learn'd to bear misfortune, like a Horse.
O would the stars, to ease my bonds, ordain,
That gentle Gulliver might guide my rein!
Safe would I bear him to his journey's end,
For 'tis a pleasure to support a friend.
But if my life be doom'd to serve the bad,
O! may'st thou never want an easy pad!
MARY GULLIVER TO CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER.
THE Captain, some time after his return, being retired to Mr Sympson's in the country, Mrs Gulliver, apprehending from his late behaviour some estrangement of his affections, writes him the following expostulating, soothing, and tenderly complaining epistle.
7ELCOME, thrice welcome, to thy native place! -What, touch me not? what, shun a wife's embrace? Have I for this thy tedious absence borne,
And wak'd, and wish'd whole nights for thy return?
In five long years I took no second spouse;
What Redriff wife so long hath kept her vows?
Your eyes, your nose, inconstancy betray;
Your nose you stop; your eyes you turn away.
'Tis said, that thou should'st cleave unto thy Wife;
Once thou didst cleave, and I could cleave for life.
Hear, and relent! hark how thy children moan;
Be kind at least to these: they are thy own;
Be bold, and count them all; secure to find
The honest number that you left behind.
See how they pat thee with their pretty paws:
Why start you? are they snakes? or have they claws?
Thy Christian seed, our mutual flesh and bone:
Be kind at least to these, they are thy own.
Biddel, like thee, might farthest India rove;
He changed his country, but retain'd his love.
There's Captain Pennell, absent half his life,
Comes back, and is the kinder to his wife.
Yet Pennell's wife is brown, compared to me;
And Mrs Biddel sure is fifty-three.
Not touch me! never neighbour call'd me slut:
Was Flimnap's dame more sweet in Lilliput?
I've no red hair to breathe an odious fume;
At least thy consort's cleaner than thy Groom.
Why then that dirty stable-boy thy care?
What mean those visits to the Sorrel Mare?
Say, by what witchcraft, or what demon led,-
Preferr'st thou Litter to the marriage bed!
Some say the devil himself is in that Mare:.
If so, our Dean shall drive him forth by prayer.
Some think you mad, some think you are possess'd;
That Bedlam and clean straw will suit you best.
Vain means, alas! this frenzy to appease,
That straw, that straw, would heighten the disease.
My bed (the scene of all our former joys,
Witness two lovely girls, two lovely boys,)
Alone I press; in dreams I call my dear,
I stretch my hand, no Gulliver is there!
I wake, I rise, and, shivering with the frost,
Search all the house,-my Gulliver is lost!
Forth in the street I rush with frantic cries;
The windows open, all the neighbours rise;
"Where sleeps my Gulliver? O tell me where!"
The neighbours answer, "With the Sorrel Mare."
At early morn, I to the market haste,
(Studious in everything to please_thy taste;)
A curious Fowl and Sparagrass I chose
(For I remember you were fond of those);
Three shillings cost the first, the last seven groats;
Sullen you turn from both, and call for Oats.
Others bring goods and treasure to their houses,
Something to deck their pretty babes and spouses;
My only token was a cup like horn,
That's made of nothing but a lady's corn.
'Tis not for that I grieve; no, 'tis to see The Groom and Sorrel Mare preferr'd to me!
These, for some moments when you deign to quit,
And (at due distance) sweet discourse admit,
'Tis all my pleasure thy past toil to know,
For pleased remembrance builds delight on woe.
At every danger pants thy consort's breast,
And gaping infants squall to hear the rest.
How did I tremble, when, by thousands bound,
I saw thee stretch'd on Lilliputian ground?
When scaling armies climb'd up every part,
Each step they trod, I felt upon my heart.
But when thy torrent quench'd the dreadful blaze,
King, queen, and nation, staring with amaze,
Full in my view how all my husband came,
And what extinguish'd theirs, increas'd my flame.
Those Spectacles, ordain'd thine eyes to save,
Were once my present; Love that armour gave.
How did I mourn at Bolgolam's decree!
For when he sign'd thy death, he sentenc'd me.
When folks might see thee all the country round
For sixpence, I'd have giv'n a thousand pound.
Lord! when the Giant-babe that head of thine
Got in his mouth, my heart was up in mine!
When in the Marrow-bone I see thee ramm'd;
Or on the house-top by the Monkey cramm'd,
The piteous images renew my pain,
And all thy dangers I weep o'er again.
But on the Maiden's Nipple when you rid,
Pray Heav'n, 'twas all a wanton maiden did!
Glumdalclitch too-with thee I mourn her case:
Heav'n guard! the gentle girl from all disgrace!
O may the king that one neglect forgive,
And pardon her the fault by which I live!