Ballads | Page 2

friend;?Yet kind compassion, who surveys,?Soon bids her sorrow end.
A sculptor, pity's genuine son!?Knew her well-founded grief;?And quickly, tho' he promised none,?Gave her the best relief;
He, rich in Lucy's sister's heart,?By love and friendship's aid,?Of Fido, with the happiest art,?A secret statue made.
By stealth in Lucy's chamber plac'd,?It charm'd the mourner there,?Till Edward, with new glory grac'd,?Rejoin'd his faithful fair.
The marble Fido in their sight,?Enhanc'd their nuptial bliss;?And Lucy every morn, and night,?Gave him a grateful kiss.

THE ELEPHANT.
BALLAD THE SECOND.
Say, nature, on whose wond'rous reign?Delighted fancy dwells,?Of all thy numerous brutal train?What animal excells?
What quadruped most nobly vies?In virtue with mankind,?Like man deliberately wise,?And resolutely kind?
Beneath a form vast and uncouth?Such excellence is found:?Sagacious Elephant! thy truth,?Thy kindness is renown'd.
More mild than sanguinary man,?Whose servant thou hast prov'd,?Oft in his frantic battle's van?Thy bulk has stood unmoved:
There oft thy spirit griev'd, to see?His murd'rous rage encrease,?'Till mad himself, he madden'd thee.?Thou nobler friend to peace!
Acts of thy courage might occur?To grace heroic song;?But I thy gentle deeds prefer,?Thou strongest of the strong!
Where India serves the British throne,?In scenes no longer wild,?A menial Elephant was known,?Most singularly mild!
It was his custom, fresh and gay?By his attendant led,?Walking to water, every day,?To pass a gard'ner's shed,
This gard'ner, of good natured fame,?Admir'd the noble beast;?And gave him, whensoe'er he came,?A vegetable feast.
Some dainty, from his stall bestow'd,?So made the beast his friend;?'Twas joy to see, at this abode,?His blythe proboscis bend.
Not coarsely eager for his food,?He seem'd his love to court,?And oft delighted, as he stood.?To yield his children sport.
As if to thank them for each gift,?With tender, touching care,?The boys he to his back would lift,?And still caress them there.
In short his placid gambols seem'd?Affection so profound,?His friendship for this man was deem'd?A wonder all around.
But O! can humour's giddy range?Mislead the brutal mind??Can elephants their friendship change,?As fickle as mankind?
See now the hero of my song,?That theme of every tongue!?Alone, and fierce, he stalks along,?As if with frenzy stung:
See! to the gard'ner's well-known shed?Impetuous he flies;?Seizes his friend in silent dread,?And lifts him to the skies.
High as his trunk the man can bear,?Th' astonish'd man he bore,?Who vainly struggled in the air,?And trembled more and more.
So wild, so swift, the monster past,?All deem'd him mad and fled.--?Thro' a high window gently cast,?With terror almost dead,
The astounded gard'ner view'd with awe?The savage speed away;?But soon with gratitude he saw?The source of his dismay:
Unthought of source! for now inflam'd?A ravenous tyger sprung,?And at the window vainly aim'd?To which he trembling clung.
And now with joy his heart strings swell,?And blest he deems his lot;?For the foil'd tyger as he fell,?A latent marksman shot.
The Elephant returns:--O Heaven!?How tender was his air,?Seeing the friend, whose life was given?To his preserving care!
For, conscious of the danger, he,?Most providently kind,?From unseen ill to set him free,?Such rescue had designed.
Ye, whom a friend's dark perils pain,?When terrors most unnerve him,?Learn from this Elephant to strain?Your sinews to preserve him.

THE EAGLE.
BALLAD THE THIRD.
Nature, what heart may here by thee,?Most truly brave be styled??The tender mother's it must be,?When struggling for her child!
A Scottish tale, of serious truth,?Will make the maxim clear,?I heard it from a shepherd youth,?As nature's self sincere.
On Scotland's wildest, loneliest ground,?The subject of my tale?Liv'd, where incumbent mountains frown'd?High o'er her peaceful vale.
The heroine of nature, she?No vain ambition knew,?Her bairns and goats she nurs'd with glee,?To love and labour true.
Her hut within the valley stood,?Where thin grass grew alone,?No shade had she from lofty wood.?But much from towering stone.
For o'er her vale a mountain's crown,?In loftiest horror, hung,?A ravenous Eagle half way down,?Nurs'd her imperial young.
Jessy herself, so was she call'd,?Possess'd an eagle's eye,?And her quick vision unappall'd?Had mark'd the nest on high.
But of a fearless heart, she deem'd?The royal bird her friend,?Nor thought its rage, tho' fierce it scream'd,?Would to her vale descend.
With plunder borne thro' distant air,?She saw it stain the rock,?Yet trusted it would nobly spare?Her little neighbouring flock.
Ah Jessy, oft the fancied friend,?Commits a cruel wrong;?Weak neighbours seldom should depend?On kindness from the strong.
No manly guard hast thou with thee?A savage foe to scare,?For thy good man far off to sea?The distant billows bear.
That best of guards thou oft has known,?But of his aid bereft,?Two little boys with thee alone?Are all thy treasures left.
The eldest grew with manly grace,?His years yet barely seven,?A stripling of a sweeter face,?Has never gaz'd on Heaven.
He was indeed a friend most rare,?To chear his lonely mother,?And aid her in her constant care?His little baby-brother.
With these to Jessy much endear'd,?Whom from the world she hid,?Three nurslings more she fondly rear'd,?Two lambkins and a kid.
Most tender playmates all the five,?None stray'd the vale beyond,?They were the happiest imps alive,?All of each other fond.
And Jessy all with joy survey'd,?With joy her heart ran o'er,?When they their little gambols play'd,?She spinning