  Five little goldfish in a vase My simple study-room do grace, And oft when tired of reading books, I turn to them my weary looks, And pleasure find in their quaint ways, Reminding me of ancient lays. Amid the deep, on sparkling sands, A tow’ring Gothic castle stands, Its gates and windows open wide, Through which the lustrous carplings glide, Like sea-nymphs in the days of old, Like mermaids in an age of gold. They hide beneath the dark green weed, And fondly on its frondlets feed, It seems an island near the shore, Where Lorelei did sing of yore, And gold and green most softly blend, As then—ere romance had an end. O, days of legendary lore, Of fairy-folk and nymphs galore! When tired of this prosaic age, And weary of the modern page, I find my golden fish suggest The dreams with which your life was blest. IISometimes, when in uphappy mood, I on my limitations brood, And think how narrow the confines, In which the soul almost repines, I turn again—just to behold My finny friends of burnished gold. How little is their rounded sphere, Though rivers wide are rushing near! How little chance themselves to be, In freedom’s realm, the sunny sea! I wonder not that mournful gape, And rolling glance they seem to ape. Yet, all the pity I bestow Is tearless, since in heart I know, It would be fatal for my fish To leave the boun’dry of their dish, To larger ones in stream or bay. And then this moral comes to me, While craving larger liberty; It might be death the bounds to break, Which fate and duty round me make, So be content and get the best Of what, perhaps, is but a jest. |
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