قراءة كتاب The Peacock and Parrot, on their Tour to Discover the Author of "The Peacock At Home"
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
The Peacock and Parrot, on their Tour to Discover the Author of "The Peacock At Home"
الصفحة رقم: 3
More exquisite verses than those you’ve inspir’d.
And with envy, no doubt, has fill’d many a heart:
I wonder not, then, you are anxious to know
From whose pen these strains of sweet harmony flow.
’Tis true, I have chanc’d in my wanderings to meet
With some secrets; and such anecdotes cou’d repeat!
However, no matter; I give you my word,
That who wrote this fine Poem, I never yet heard;
But it much wou’d delight me the truth to discover,
Altho’ I shou’d fly for it all the world over:
What say you, Sir Argus, the fact to insure,
Suppose we were both to set out on a tour?”
“Agreed! my good Sir; far as England extends,
Then together we’ll travel, and visit our friends:
Endeavour to find out the name of our Poet,
And e’er we return, ten to one but we know it.”
Of grain and dried cherries, already prepar’d:
Then sipping some drops from a neighbouring spring,
Made no further delay, but directly took wing.
Awhile they fled on, over meadow, thro’ grove,
Delighted, for novelty’s sake, thus to rove:
Yet sometimes alighted, preferring a walk,
The Peacock for ease, and the Parrot for talk;
Till, at last, poor Sir Argus began to complain,
Of the sad inconvenience he felt from his train,
And propos’d, as the sky seem’d to threaten a shower,
To rest till the morning, at Nightingale Bower;
The obsequious Parrot replied by a bow,
And they went on as fast as their strength would allow.
Philomela, to whom her retirement was dear,
Felt vex’d at beholding the flutterers near;
She hated all bustle, intrusion, and riot;
And tho’ a few trips to the gay world she made,
Her heart, still unalter’d, remain’d in the shade.
However, our fair pensive warbler well knew,
Some sacrifice still to politeness was due;
She, therefore, soon hasten’d the coxcombs to meet;
And welcom’d them both to her rural retreat.
A delicate supper before them was plac’d,
Not with splendor, indeed, but simplicity grac’d;
At which she presided with elegant ease,
And that native good breeding, that always must please.
Sir Argus seem’d charm’d, and shew’d great condescension,
Was all affability, grace, and attention:
Till growing impatient, without much preamble,
He eagerly mention’d the cause of his ramble.
But no information, alas! he receiv’d,
At which he was hurt, and the Nightingale griev’d;
And propos’d, en attendant, to give him a song.
Delighted, he begg’d Philomel would proceed;
She complied; and ’twas something like singing, indeed.
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