CXX. POLYPHEME'S SONG. O JOHN GAY, 1688-1732. RUDDIER than the cherry! O nymph more bright Than moonshine night, Like kidlings, blithe and merry! Ripe as the melting cluster, No lily has such lustre ; Yet hard to tame As raging flame, And fierce as storms that bluster. CXXI. ALEXANDER POPE, 1688-1744. H ODE ON SOLITUDE. APPY the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground: Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Blest, who can unconcernedly find Hours, days and years slide soft away; In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day: Sound sleep by night, study and ease, Together mixed; sweet recreation; And innocence, which most does please, With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus, unlamented, let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone CXXII. Tell where I lie. THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. VITAL spark of heavenly flame ! Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame : Hark! they whisper; angels say, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, The world recedes; it disappears! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Death! where is thy Sting? CXXIII. HENRY CAREY, 1693?-1743. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. OF F all the girls that are so smart And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em ; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em : She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When she is by, I leave my work, N My master comes like any Turk, Of all the days that's in the week And that's the day that comes betwixt For then I'm dressed all in my best My master carries me to church, Because I leave him in the lurch She is the darling of my heart, When Christmas comes about again, Oh then I shall have money; |