ODE XXIX.

ON

A SPIDER.

BY DR. LITTLETON.

ARTIST, who underneath my table
Thy curious texture has display'd!
Who, if we may believe the fable,
Wert once a lovely blooming maid!

Insidious, restless, watchful Spider,
Fear no officious damsel's broom;
Extend thy artful fabric wider,

And spread thy banners round my room.

Swept from the rich man's costly cieling, Thou'rt welcome to my homely roof; Here may'st thou find a peaceful dwelling, And undisturb'd attend thy woof.

Whilst I thy wondrous fabric stare at,
And think on hapless poet's fate;
Like thee confin'd to lonely garret,
And rudely banish'd rooms of state.

And as from out thy tortur'd body

Thou draw'st thy slender string with pain; So does he labour, like a noddy,

To spin materials from his brain.

He for some fluttering tawdry creature,
That spreads her charms before his eye;
And that's a conquest little better
Than thine o'er captive butterfly.

Thus far 'tis plain we both agree,
Perhaps our deaths may better shew it;
'Tis ten to one but penury

Ends both the spider and the poet.

LET sages with superfluous pains
The learned page devour;

While Florio better knowledge drains
From each instructive flower.

His fav'rite Rose his fear alarms,

All opening to the sun;

Like vain coquettes, who spread their charms, And shine to be undone.

The Tulip, gaudy in its dress,

And made for nought but show, In every sense may well express The glittering, empty beau!

The Snow-drop first but peeps to light,
And fearful shews its head:

Thus modest merit shines more bright,
By self-distrust misled.

Th' Auric'la, which through labour rose,
Yet shines compleat by art,
The force of education shows,
How much it can impart.

He marks the Sensitive's nice fit ;
Nor fears he to proclaim,
If each man's darling vice were hit,
That he would act the same.

Beneath each common hedge, he views

The Violet, with care,

Hinting we should not worth refuse,
Although we find it there.

The Tuberose that lofty springs,
Nor can support its height,
Well represents imperious kings,

Grown impotent by might.

Fragrant, though pale, the Lily blows;

To teach the female breast, How virtue can its sweets disclose

In all complexions drest.

To every bloom that crowns the year,
Nature some charm decrees;

Learn hence, ye Nymphs, her face to wear,
Ye cannot fail to please.

ODE XXXI.

THE VIOLET.

HAIL, blooming daughter of the youthful year, Sweet to the smell, and pleasing to the sight! How does thy presence gloomy nature cheer, And fill the bosom with a soft delight!

At thy approach stern rugged winter flies,
Το
pour
his anger on the frozen north;
While balmy zephyrs fill our peaceful skies,
And call the buds and genial blossoms forth.

The lark, high-mounting at the rise of day, Salutes the blushing morn with gladsome notes The little warblers hop from spray to spray,

And trill wild music thro' their tuneful throats.

The shepherd counts his flock, the rustic ploughs, The farmer views with joy his springing corn, The milk-maid drains the sweetly-smelling cows, And sin gs the pleasures of the April morn.