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A Pastoral
SOON as Glumdalclitch miss’d her pleasing care, | |
| She wept, she blubber’d, and she tore her hair; | |
| No British miss sincerer grief has known, | |
| Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown. | |
| She furl’d her sampler, and haul’d in her thread, | 5 |
| And stuck her needle into Grildrig’s bed; | |
| Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall | |
| Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall. | |
| In peals of thunder now she roars, and now | |
| She gently whimpers like a lowing cow: | 10 |
| Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears: | |
| Her locks dishevell’d, and her flood of tears, | |
| Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain, | |
| When from the thatch drips fast a shower of rain. | |
| In vain she search’d each cranny of the house, | 15 |
| Each gaping chink, impervious to a mouse. | |
| ‘Was it for this (she cried) with daily care | |
| Within thy reach I set the vinegar, | |
| And fill’d the cruet with the acid tide, | |
| While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied? | 20 |
| Where twined the silver eel around thy hook, | |
| And all the little monsters of the brook! | |
| Sure in that lake he dropt; my Grilly’s drown’d!’ | |
| She dragg’d the cruet, but no Grildrig found. | |
| ‘Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast! | 25 |
| But little creatures enterprise the most. | |
| Trembling I ’ve seen thee dare the kitten’s paw, | |
| Nay, mix with children, as they play’d at taw, | |
| Nor fear the marbles as they bounding flew; | |
| Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you! | 30 |
| ‘Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? | |
| Who from a page can ever learn the truth? | |
| Versed in court tricks, that money-loving boy | |
| To some lord’s daughter sold the living toy; | |
| Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, | 35 |
| As children tear the wings of flies away. | |
| From place to place o’er Brobdingnag I ’ll roam, | |
| And never will return, or bring thee home. | |
| But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind? | |
| How then they fairy footsteps can I find? | 40 |
| Dost thou bewilder’d wander all alone | |
| In the green thicket of a mossy stone; | |
| Or, tumbled from the toadstool’s slipp’ry round, | |
| Perhaps, all maim’d, lie grovelling on the ground | |
| Dost thou, embosom’d in the lovely rose, | 45 |
| Or, sunk within the peach’s down repose? | |
| Within the kingcup if thy limbs are spread, | |
| Or in the golden cowslip’s velvet head, | |
| O show me, Flora, midst those sweets, the flower | |
| Where sleeps my Grildrig in the fragrant bower. | 50 |
| ‘But ah! I fear thy little fancy roves | |
| On little females, and on little loves; | |
| Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse, | |
| The baby playthings that adorn thy house, | |
| Doors, windows, chimneys, and the spacious rooms, | 55 |
| Equal in size to cells of honeycombs. | |
| Hast thou for these now ventured from the shore, | |
| Thy bark a bean shell, and a straw thy oar? | |
| Or in thy box now bounding on the main, | |
| Shall I ne’er bear thyself and house again? | 60 |
| And shall I set thee on my hand no more, | |
| To see thee leap the lines, and traverse o’er | |
| My spacious palm; of stature scarce a span, | |
| Mimic the actions of a real man? | |
| No more behold thee turn my watch’s key, | 65 |
| As seamen at a capstan anchors weigh? | |
| How wert thou wont to walk with cautious tread, | |
| A dish of tea, like milkpail, on thy head! | |
| How chase the mite that bore thy cheese away, | |
| And keep the rolling maggot at a bay!’ | 70 |
| She spoke; but broken accents stopp’d her voice, | |
| Soft as the speaking-trumpet’s mellow noise: | |
| She sobb’d a storm, and wiped her flowing eyes, | |
| Which seem’d like two broad suns in misty skies. | |
| O squander not thy grief! those tears command | 75 |
| To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland; | |
| The plenteous pickle shall preserve the fish, | |
| And Europe taste thy sorrows in a dish. | |
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