The placid Pug that paces in the Park,
Harnessed in silk and led by leathern lead,
Lives his dull life, and recks not of the Shark
In distant waters. Lapped in sloth and greed,
He fails in strenuous life to make a mark,
The placid Pug that paces in the park.

Round the slow circle of his nights and days
His life revolves in calm monotony.
Not unsusceptible to casual praise,
And mildly moved by the approach of "tea,"
No forked and jagged lightning leaps and plays
Round the slow circle of his nights and days.

He scarcely turns his round protuberant eyes,
To mark the mood of animals or men.
His joy is limited to mild surmise
When a new biscuit swims into his ken.
And when athwart his gaze a Rabbit flies,
He scarcely turns his round protuberant eyes.

And all the while the Shark in Southern seas
Pursues the paths of his pulsating quest,
Though the thermometer at fierce degrees
Might well admonish him to take a rest,
The Pug at home snores in ignoble ease.
(And all the while the Shark in Southern seas!)

If Pugs like Sharks were brought up in the sea
And forced to swim long miles to find their food,
Tutored to front the Hake's hostility,
And beard the Lobster in his dangerous mood,
Would not their lives more sane, more useful be,
If Pugs like Sharks were brought up in the sea?

The placid Pug still paces in the park,
Untouched by thoughts of all that might have been.
Undreaming that he might have "steered his bark"
Through many a stirring sight and stormy scene.
But being born a Pug and not a Shark
The placid Pug still paces in the park.

O happy Tithon! if thou know'st thy hap,
And valuest thy wealth, as I my want,
Then need'st thou not—which ah! I grieve to grant—
Repine at Jove, lull'd in his leman's lap:
That golden shower in which he did repose—
One dewy drop it stains
Which thy Aurora rains
Upon the rural plains,
When from thy bed she passionately goes.

Then, waken'd with the music of the merles,
She not remembers Memnon when she mourns:
That faithful flame which in her bosom burns
From crystal conduits throws those liquid pearls:
Sad from thy sight so soon to be removed,
She so her grief delates.
—O favour'd by the fates
Above the happiest states,
Who art of one so worthy well-beloved!