GOOSEBERRY - PIE. A PINDARIC ODE. Gooseberry-Pie is best. Full of the theme O Muse begin the song! Blood glutinous and fat of verdant hue? But Gooseberry Pie is best. Behind his oxen slow The patient Ploughman plods. And as the Sower followed by the clods Earth's genial womb received the swelling seed. The rains descend, the grains they grow; Saw ye the vegetable ocean Roll its green billows to the April gale? The ripening gold with multitudinous motion. Sway o'er the summer vale ? It flows thro' Alder banks along The stream that turns the Mill. Pass on, a little way pass on, And you shall catch its gleam anon ; And hark! the loud and agonizing groan That makes its anguish known, Where tortur'd by the Tyrant Lord of Meal The Brook is broken on the Wheel! Blow fair, blow fair, thou orient gale ! Ye winds enamour'd, lingering lie! Ye waves of ocean spare the bark ! From distant realms she comes to bring The sugar for my Pie. For this on Gambia's arid side The Vulture's feet are scaled with blood, And Beelzebub beholds with pride, His darling planter brood. First in the spring thy leaves were seen, Thou beauteous bush, so early green ! Soon ceas'd thy blossoms little life of love. O safer than the Alcides-conquer'd tree That grew the pride of that Hesperian groveNo Dragon does there need for thee With quintessential sting to work alarms, And guard thy fruit so fine, Thou vegetable Porcupine ! And didst thou scratch thy tender arms, The flour, the sugar, and the fruit, Praise my Pindaric Ode? THEODERIT, The HURON's ADDRESS to the DEAD.. Brother, thou wert strong in youth! Unhappy man was he For whom thou hadst sharpened the tomahawk's edge; On whom thine angry eye was fix'd in fight; Received the calumet, Blest Heaven, and slept in peace. When the Evil Spirits seized thee, Brother, we were sad at heart: Thou sittest amongst us on thy mat, The limbs that were active are stiff, And where is That which in thy voice But the Life and the Feeling are gone.. The Iroquois will learn That thou hast ceas'd from war, "Twill be a joy like victory, For thou wert the scourge of their race. |