The song is hush'd, the charm is all complete,
And two fair Swans are swimming on the lake:
But scarce their tender bills have time to meet,
When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake-
His steely scales a fearful rustling make,
Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell
The sable storm ;-the plumy lovers quake-
And feel the troubled waters pant and swell,
Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell.
His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death,
Hiss horrible pursuit-his red eyes glare
The waters into blood-his eager breath
Grows hot upon their plumes :—now, minstrel fair!
She drops her ring into the waves, and there
It widens all around, a fairy ring
Wrought of the silver light-the fearful pair
Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling
The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing.
Bending their course over the pale grey lake,
Against the pallid East, wherein light play'd
In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake
Circled them round continually, and bay'd
Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade
The sanctuary ring-his sable mail
Roll'd darkly through the flood, and writhed and made
A shining track over the waters pale,
Lash'd into boiling foam by his enormous tail.
And so they sail'd into the distance dim,
Into the very distance-small and white,
Like snowy
blossoms of the spring that swim
Over the brooklets-follow'd by the spite
Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright
Worried them on their course, and sore annoy,
Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light,
And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy,
Lock'd in embrace of sweet unutterable joy!
Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers
Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes
Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers
The Oriental sun began to rise,
Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;
Wherewith that sable Serpent far away
Fled, like a part of night-delicious sighs
From waking blossoms purified the day,
And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY.
Ан me! those old familiar bounds!
That classic house, those classic grounds
My pensive thought recalls!
What tender urchins now confine,
What little captives now repine,
Within yon irksome walls!
Ay, that's the very house! I know
Its ugly windows, ten a-row!
Its chimneys in the rear!
And there's the iron rod so high,
That drew the thunder from the sky
And turn'd our table-beer!
There I was birch'd! there I was bred! There like a little Adam fed
From Learning's woeful tree! The weary tasks I used to con !— The hopeless leaves I wept upon !— Most fruitless leaves to me !
* No connexion with any other Ode.
The summon'd class!-the awful bow!-
I wonder who is master now
And wholesome anguish sheds !
How many ushers now employs,
How many maids to see the boys
Have nothing in their heads!
And Mrs. S***?-Doth she abet
(Like Pallas in the parlour) yet
Some favour'd two or three,-
The little Crichtons of the hour,
Her muffin-medals that devour,
And swill her prize-bohea?
Ay, there's the playground! there's the lime,
Beneath whose shade in summer's prime
So wildly I have read!-
Who sits there now, and skims the cream
Of
young Romance, and weaves a dream
Of Love and Cottage-bread?
Who struts the Randall of the walk?
Who models tiny heads in chalk?
Who scoops the light canoe?
What early genius buds apace?
Where's Poynter? Harris ? Bowers? Chase? Hal Baylis ? blithe Carew?
Alack! they're gone-a thousand ways!
And some are serving in "the Greys,”
And some have perish'd young!—
Jack Harris weds his second wife;
Hal Baylis drives the wane of life;
And blithe Carew-is hung!
Grave Bowers teaches A B C
To savages at Owhyee;
Poor Chase is with the worms!All, all are gone-the olden breed!New crops of mushroom boys succeed, "And push us from our forms!"
Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout, And leap, and skip, and mob about,
At play where we have play'd!
Some hop, some run, (some fall), some twine
Their crony arms; some in the shine,
And some are in the shade!
Lo there what mix'd conditions run!
The orphan lad; the widow's son;
And Fortune's favour'd care-
The wealthy born, for whom she hath
Mac-Adamised the future path—
The Nabob's pamper'd heir!
Some brightly starr'd-some evil born,—
For honour some, and some for scorn,-
For fair or foul renown!
Good, bad, indiff'rent-none may lack!
Look, here's a White, and there's a Black!
And there's a Creole brown!
Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep, And wish their frugal sires would keep
Their only sons at home;—
Some tease the future tense, and plan
The full-grown doings of the man,
for years to come!
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