01.01.2011, 12:38
GOUT AND WINGS.
The pigeons flutter'd fieldward, one and all,
I saw the swallows wheel, and soar, and dive ;
The little bees hung poised before the hive.
Even Partlet hoised herself across the wall :
I felt my earth-bound lot in every limb.
And, in my envious mood, I half-rebell'd ;
When lo ! an insect cross'd the page I held,
A little helpless minim, slight and slim ;
Ah ! sure, there was no room for envy there,
But gracious aid and condescending care ;
Ahs ! my pride and pity were misspent.
The atom knew his strength, and rose in air !
My gout came tingling back, as oft he went,
A wing was open'd at me everywhere !
PODACER BEGS PARDON OF BIRDS, BEES, AND
WINGS IN GENERAL.
Pardon me, all ye birds that float at ease,
That I begrudged your fleet aerial joys ;
And thou, poor Partlet ! and ye little bees,
That hum and hover with a pleasant noise
About your homes of honey ! 'twas a spirt
Of spleen—a peevish murmur of disease.
And not a measured curse to do you hurt :
And thou ! who for a moment did'st displease,
Commission'd to rebuke my pride, and spring
Thy tiny pennons on me unaware ;
Thy smart and sudden lesson was the thing
I needed.—Thou art gone I know not where !
But I have seen, beside my gouty chair,
A chiding angel, of the smallest wing.
The pigeons flutter'd fieldward, one and all,
I saw the swallows wheel, and soar, and dive ;
The little bees hung poised before the hive.
Even Partlet hoised herself across the wall :
I felt my earth-bound lot in every limb.
And, in my envious mood, I half-rebell'd ;
When lo ! an insect cross'd the page I held,
A little helpless minim, slight and slim ;
Ah ! sure, there was no room for envy there,
But gracious aid and condescending care ;
Ahs ! my pride and pity were misspent.
The atom knew his strength, and rose in air !
My gout came tingling back, as oft he went,
A wing was open'd at me everywhere !
PODACER BEGS PARDON OF BIRDS, BEES, AND
WINGS IN GENERAL.
Pardon me, all ye birds that float at ease,
That I begrudged your fleet aerial joys ;
And thou, poor Partlet ! and ye little bees,
That hum and hover with a pleasant noise
About your homes of honey ! 'twas a spirt
Of spleen—a peevish murmur of disease.
And not a measured curse to do you hurt :
And thou ! who for a moment did'st displease,
Commission'd to rebuke my pride, and spring
Thy tiny pennons on me unaware ;
Thy smart and sudden lesson was the thing
I needed.—Thou art gone I know not where !
But I have seen, beside my gouty chair,
A chiding angel, of the smallest wing.