The Dog And The Water Lily. No Fable.
By William Cowper
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.