6. Eight times emerging from the flood, She mew'd to every watery god Some speedy aid to send. No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: A favourite has no friend! 7. From hence, ye beauties! undeceived, Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold: Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, Nor all that glisters gold. * * * * * III--ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. [Greek: Anthropos ikanae profasis eis to dustuchein] MENANDER. 1 Ye distant spires! ye antique towers! That crown the watery glade Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's (1) holy shade; And ye that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights the expanse below Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way: 2 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring. 3 Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race, Disporting on thy margent green, The paths of pleasure trace, Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which enthral? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, Or urge the flying ball? 4 While some, on earnest business bent, Their murmuring labours ply, 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint, To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry; Still as they run they look behind. They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy. 5 Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed, Less pleasing when possess'd; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast; Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, Wild wit, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly the approach of morn. 6 Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day: Yet see how all around them wait, The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah! show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah! tell them they are men!