The Winter Walk at Noon. HE night was winter in his roughest mood, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue And through the trees I view the embattled tower The walk still verdant under oaks and elms, The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. With slender notes, and more than half suppressed. Cowper. To follow in the field his daily toil, And dress the grateful glebe that yields him fruits. THOMAS OTWAY. [THOMAS OTWAY, an unfortunate poet, ranks high as a dramatic writer. He particularly excelled in pathetic delineation. He fell into deep poverty, and died at the age of thirty-four, in so wretched a state of destitution, that it was popularly asserted he had been choked by a piece of bread, devoured in the rage of hunger.] Y What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight; But you are lovely leaves, where we HERRICK. [ROBERT HERRICK, a clergyman of the Church of England, who lived during the reign of Charles I. and the Cromwellian period, wrote many graceful poems. In some of his productions, however, the purity of thought that betrays the true poet is lamentably wanting. Herrick was deprived of his living under Cromwell's rule, but regained it at the Restoration.] Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog. OOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song, And, if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, A kind and gentle heart he had, And in that town a dog was found, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man, at first, were friends; But, when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends, Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, 172 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. And swore the dog had lost his wits The wound it seem'd both sore and sad, To every And, while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die, But soon a wonder came to light, The dog it was that died. |