Goldsmith, “An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog” read by Rebecca Turner

Source: UMW. Death of a Mad Dog

 

An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog by Oliver Goldsmith

 

Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.In Islington there was a man
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran—
Whene’er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad—
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wond’ring neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost its wits
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light
That showed the rogues they lied,—
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died!

Kelly, “To An Unborn Infant” read by Francisco Hernandez

Source: UMW   Isabella Kelly To An Unborn Infant

 

 

 

To an Unborn Infant
by
Isabella Kelly

 Be still, sweet babe, no harm shall reach thee,
Nor hurt thy yet unfinished form;
Thy mother’s frame shall safely guard thee
From this bleak, this beating storm.

 Promised hope! expected treasure!
Oh, how welcome to these arms!
Feeble, yet they’ll fondly clasp thee,
Shield thee from the least alarms.

Loved already, little blessing,
Kindly cherished, though unknown,
Fancy forms thee sweet and lovely,
Emblem of the rose unblown. 

Though thy father is imprisoned,
Wronged, forgotten, robbed of right,
I’ll repress the rising anguish,
Till thine eyes behold the light.

Start not babe! the hour approaches
That presents the gift of life;
Soon, too soon thou’lt taste of sorrow
In these realms of care and strife.

 Share not thou a mother’s feelings,
Hope vouchsafes a pitying ray;
Though a gloom obscures the morning,
Bright may shine the rising day.

Live, sweet babe, to bless thy father,
When they mother slumbers low;
Slowly lisp her name that loved him,
Through a world of varied woe.

Learn, my child, the mournful story
Of thy suffering mother’s life;
Let thy father not forget her
In a future, happier wife.

Babe of fondest expectation,
Watch his wishes in his face;
What pleased in me mayst thou inherit,
And supply my vacant place.
 

Whisper all the anguished moments
That have wrung this anxious breast:
Say, I lived to give thee being,
And retired to endless rest.

                                                (1794)

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