There's nothing, dear master, will stop him but that. Remember the Beaver (you well know the fable) Who flying the hunters as long as he's able, When he finds that his efforts can nothing avail But death and the puppies are close at his tail, Instead of desponding at such a dead lift He bites off their object, and makes a free gift-- Since fortune all hope of escaping denies Better give them a little, than lose the whole prize." But scarce had he spoke, when we came to a place Whose muddy condition concluded the chace, Down settled the cart--and old Ranger stuck fast Aha! (said the Saint) have I catch'd ye at last? * * * * * Cætera desunt. [28] First published, as far as I can find, in the _Daily Advertiser_, March 16, 1790. It was there introduced as follows (italics): "In several parts of New England it is customary not to suffer travellers to proceed on a journey on the Sabbath day. If a person is obstinate on these occasions, he is either forcibly (and commonly to the ridicule of the whole Congregation) conducted to the Church door, led through the principal ile (_sic_), and placed in a conspicuous seat by the wardens, or must be detained till next day under guard, and submit to pay a fine, or be committed. The following lines commemorate an event of this sort, which some years ago really befel Mr. P. the noted performer in feats of horsemanship. The author, however, seems to have left his poem incomplete." Text from the 1809 edition. ON THE SLEEP OF PLANTS[29] When suns are set, and stars in view, Not only man to slumber yields; But Nature grants this blessing too, To yonder plants, in yonder fields. The Summer heats and lengthening days (To them the same as toil and care) Thrice welcome make the evening breeze, That kindly does their strength repair. At early dawn each plant survey, And see, revived by Nature's hand, With youthful vigour, fresh and gay, Their blossoms blow, their leaves expand. Yon' garden plant, with weeds o'er-run, Not void of thought, perceives its hour, And, watchful of the parting sun, Throughout the night conceals her flower. Like us, the slave of cold and heat, She too enjoys her little span-- With Reason, only less complete Than that which makes the boast of man. Thus, moulded from one common clay, A varied life adorns the plain; By Nature subject to decay, By Nature meant to bloom again! [29] Published in the _Daily Advertiser_, March 20, 1790. Text from the edition of 1809. ON THE DEMOLITION OF AN OLD COLLEGE[30] On New-Year's eve, the year was eighty-nine, All clad in black, a back-woods' college crew With crow-bar, sledge, and broad axe did combine To level with the dust their antique hall, In hopes the President would build a new: Yes, yes, (said they), this ancient pile shall fall, And laugh no longer at yon' cobbler's stall.