Part 6 (1/2)
THE MOON IS UP
The moon is up, the moon is up!
The larks begin to fly, And, like a drowsy b.u.t.tercup, Dark Phoebus skims the sky, The elephant, with cheerful voice, Sings blithely on the spray; The bats and beetles all rejoice, Then let me, too, be gay.
I would I were a porcupine, And wore a peac.o.c.k's tail; To-morrow, if the moon but s.h.i.+ne, Perchance I'll be a whale.
Then let me, like the cauliflower, Be merry while I may, And, ere there comes a sunny hour To cloud my heart, be gay!
_Anonymous_.
'TIS MIDNIGHT
'Tis midnight, and the setting sun Is slowly rising in the west; The rapid rivers slowly run, The frog is on his downy nest.
The pensive goat and sportive cow, Hilarious, leap from bough to bough.
_Anonymous_.
UPRISING SEE THE FITFUL LARK
Uprising see the fitful lark Unfold his pinion to the stream; The pensive watch-dog's mellow bark O'ershades yon cottage like a dream: The playful duck and warbling bee Hop gayly on, from tree to tree!
How calmly could my spirit rest Beneath yon primrose bell so blue, And watch those airy oxen drest In every tint of pearling hue!
As on they hurl the gladsome plough, While fairy zephyrs deck each brow!
_Anonymous_.
LIKE TO THE THUNDERING TONE
Like to the thundering tone of unspoke speeches, Or like a lobster clad in logic breeches, Or like the gray fur of a crimson cat, Or like the mooncalf in a slipshod hat; E'en such is he who never was begotten Until his children were both dead and rotten.
Like to the fiery tombstone of a cabbage, Or like a crab-louse with its bag and baggage, Or like the four square circle of a ring, Or like to hey ding, ding-a, ding-a, ding; E'en such is he who spake, and yet, no doubt, Spake to small purpose, when his tongue was out.
Like to a fair, fresh, fading, wither'd rose, Or like to rhyming verse that runs in prose, Or like the stumbles of a tinder-box, Or like a man that's sound yet sickness mocks; E'en such is he who died and yet did laugh To see these lines writ for his epitaph.
_Bishop Corbet in 17th century_.