The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

364
Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows.
Melancholy smooth Meander,
Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander,
With thy flowery chaplets crown'd.
Thus when Philomela drooping,
Softly seeks her silent mate,
See the bird of Juno stooping;
Melody resigns to fate.
BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.
ON THE EVER-LAMENTED LOSS OF THE TWO YEW-TREES IN THE
PARISH OF CHILTHORNE, SOMERSET. IMITATED FROM THE EIGHTH
BOOK OF OVID.
DEAN SWIFT
In ancient time, as story tells,
The saints would often leave their cells,
And stroll about, but hide their quality,
To try good people's hospitality.
It happen'd on a winter night,
As authors of the legend write,
Two brother hermits, saints by trade,
Taking their tour in masquerade,
Disguised in tatter'd habits, went
To a small village down in Kent;
Where, in the strollers' canting strain,
They begg'd from door to door in vain,
Tried every tone might pity win;
But not a soul would let them in.
Our wandering saints, in woeful state,
Treated at this ungodly rate,