The Dog And The Water Lily. No Fable.

The noon was shady, and soft airs     Swept Ouses silent tide,     When, scaped from literary cares,     I wanderd on his side.     My spaniel, prettiest of his race,     And high in pedigree     (Two nymphs[1] adornd with every grace     That spaniel found for me),     Now wantond lost in flags and reeds,     Now starting into sight,     Pursued the swallow oer the meads     With scarce a slower flight.     It was the time when Ouse displayd     His lilies newly blown;     Their beauties I intent surveyd,     And one I wishd my own.     With cane extended far I sought     To steer it close to land;     But still the prize, though nearly caught,     Escaped my eager hand.     Beau markd my unsuccessful pains     With fixd considerate face,     And puzzling set his puppy brains     To comprehend the case.     But with a cherup clear and strong     Dispersing all his dream,     I thence withdrew, and followd long     The windings of the stream.     My ramble ended, I returnd;     Beau, trotting far before,     The floating wreath again discernd,     And plunging, left the shore.     I saw him with that lily croppd     Impatient swim to meet     My quick approach, and soon he droppd     The treasure at my feet.     Charmd with the sight, the world, I cried,     Shall hear of this thy deed:     My dog shall mortify the pride     Of mans superior breed:     But chief myself I will enjoin,     Awake at dutys call,     To show a love as prompt as thine     To Him who gives me all.