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1766.]
THE ANNALS OF BALITORE.
21
Some sling the stone with dext'rous throw,
And others bend the guiltless bow.
Those whip the whirling top, and these
The rolling marbles better please.
One in his captive linnet joys,
And one his pigeons' care employs:
These, straining every nerve on high,
Behold the kite in rapture fly;
The sweets of Nature those invite
Who, in their gardens gay, delight
To sow the tender seed in earth,
And careful watch the springing birth;
To see the flower its leaves unfold,
With crimson stained, and bright with gold;
Or on their mossy seats recline,
And duteous court the gentle Nine.
Amongst the throng my darling Phaire
Comes singing on, devoid of care;
Belov'd of all; for o'er his head
Scarce six unspotted years have fled;
Sweeter than Spring's first blossom'd bough,
But, Skinner, not more sweet than thou—
Oh, fairest flower that grac'd our shade.
How soon did all thy glories fade!
When Winter comes, it hath its charms;
E'en Winter's cold their bosoms warms;
Fearless they tempt the frozen tide,
And o'er the slippery surface glide;
Or with incessant pains and care
On high the snowy pillar rear,
Or in the hall at close of day,
While six fair tapers lend their ray,
They turn the instructive page, and find
A feast to feed the immortal mind.
And others bend the guiltless bow.
Those whip the whirling top, and these
The rolling marbles better please.
One in his captive linnet joys,
And one his pigeons' care employs:
These, straining every nerve on high,
Behold the kite in rapture fly;
The sweets of Nature those invite
Who, in their gardens gay, delight
To sow the tender seed in earth,
And careful watch the springing birth;
To see the flower its leaves unfold,
With crimson stained, and bright with gold;
Or on their mossy seats recline,
And duteous court the gentle Nine.
Amongst the throng my darling Phaire
Comes singing on, devoid of care;
Belov'd of all; for o'er his head
Scarce six unspotted years have fled;
Sweeter than Spring's first blossom'd bough,
But, Skinner, not more sweet than thou—
Oh, fairest flower that grac'd our shade.
How soon did all thy glories fade!
When Winter comes, it hath its charms;
E'en Winter's cold their bosoms warms;
Fearless they tempt the frozen tide,
And o'er the slippery surface glide;
Or with incessant pains and care
On high the snowy pillar rear,
Or in the hall at close of day,
While six fair tapers lend their ray,
They turn the instructive page, and find
A feast to feed the immortal mind.