3 books to know Juvenalian Satire. Lord Byron

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      For which their mouths gaped, like the cracks of earth

      When dried to summer dust; till taught by pain

      Men really know not what good water 's worth;

      If you had been in Turkey or in Spain,

      Or with a famish'd boat's-crew had your berth,

      Or in the desert heard the camel's bell,

      You 'd wish yourself where Truth is—in a well.

      It pour'd down torrents, but they were no richer

      Until they found a ragged piece of sheet,

      Which served them as a sort of spongy pitcher,

      And when they deem'd its moisture was complete

      They wrung it out, and though a thirsty ditcher

      Might not have thought the scanty draught so sweet

      As a full pot of porter, to their thinking

      They ne'er till now had known the joys of drinking.

      And their baked lips, with many a bloody crack,

      Suck'd in the moisture, which like nectar stream'd;

      Their throats were ovens, their swoln tongues were black,

      As the rich man's in hell, who vainly scream'd

      To beg the beggar, who could not rain back

      A drop of dew, when every drop had seem'd

      To taste of heaven—If this be true, indeed

      Some Christians have a comfortable creed.

      There were two fathers in this ghastly crew,

      And with them their two sons, of whom the one

      Was more robust and hardy to the view,

      But he died early; and when he was gone,

      His nearest messmate told his sire, who threw

      One glance at him, and said, 'Heaven's will be done!

      I can do nothing,' and he saw him thrown

      Into the deep without a tear or groan.

      The other father had a weaklier child,

      Of a soft cheek and aspect delicate;

      But the boy bore up long, and with a mild

      And patient spirit held aloof his fate;

      Little he said, and now and then he smiled,

      As if to win a part from off the weight

      He saw increasing on his father's heart,

      With the deep deadly thought that they must part.

      And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised

      His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam

      From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed,

      And when the wish'd-for shower at length was come,

      And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,

      Brighten'd, and for a moment seem'd to roam,

      He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain

      Into his dying child's mouth—but in vain.

      The boy expired—the father held the clay,

      And look'd upon it long, and when at last

      Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay

      Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past,

      He watch'd it wistfully, until away

      'T was borne by the rude wave wherein 't was cast;

      Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering,

      And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

      Now overhead a rainbow, bursting through

      The scattering clouds, shone, spanning the dark sea,

      Resting its bright base on the quivering blue;

      And all within its arch appear'd to be

      Clearer than that without, and its wide hue

      Wax'd broad and waving, like a banner free,

      Then changed like to a bow that 's bent, and then

      Forsook the dim eyes of these shipwreck'd men.

      It changed, of course; a heavenly chameleon,

      The airy child of vapour and the sun,

      Brought forth in purple, cradled in vermilion,

      Baptized in molten gold, and swathed in dun,

      Glittering like crescents o'er a Turk's pavilion,

      And blending every colour into one,

      Just like a black eye in a recent scuffle

      (For sometimes we must box without the muffle).

      Our shipwreck'd seamen thought it a good omen—

      It is as well to think so, now and then;

      'T was an old custom of the Greek and Roman,

      And may become of great advantage when

      Folks are discouraged; and most surely no men

      Had greater need to nerve themselves again

      Than these, and so this rainbow look'd like hope—

      Quite a celestial kaleidoscope.

      About this time a beautiful white bird,

      Webfooted, not unlike a dove in size

      And plumage (probably it might have err'd

      Upon its course), pass'd oft before their eyes,

      And tried to perch, although it saw and heard

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