2. Her conscious tail her joy declared; The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, Her coat that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, She saw, and purr'd applause.
3. Still had she gazed, but,' midst the tide, Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream; Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, Through richest purple, to the view Betray'd a golden gleam.
4. The hapless nymph with wonder saw; A whisker first, and then a claw, With many an ardent wish, She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize: What female heart can gold despise? What cat's averse to fish?
5. Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between: (Maligant Fate sat by and smiled,) The slippery verge her feet beguiled; She tumbled headlong in.
6. Eight times emerging from the flood, She mew'd to every watery god Some speedy aid to send. No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: A favourite has no friend!
7. From hence, ye beauties! undeceived, Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold: Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, Nor all that glisters gold.
III--ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
[Greek: Anthropos ikanae profasis eis to dustuchein]
1 Ye distant spires! ye antique towers! That crown the watery glade Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's (1) holy shade; And ye that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights the expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way:
2 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
3 Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on thy margent green, The paths of pleasure trace, Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which enthral? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball?