The Talking Beasts Part 37

The Eagle and the Owl, resolved to cease Their war, embraced in pledge of peace.

On faith of King, on faith of Owl, they swore That they would eat each other's chicks no more.

"But know you mine?" said Wisdom's bird.

"Not I, indeed," the Eagle cried.

"The worse for that," the Owl replied: "I fear your oath's a useless word; I fear that you, as king, will not Consider duly who or what: Adieu, my young, if you should meet them!"

"Describe them, then, and I'll not eat them,"

The Eagle said. The Owl replied: "My little ones, I say with pride, For grace of form cannot be match'd-- The prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd; By this you cannot fail to know them; 'Tis needless, therefore, that I show them."

At length G.o.d gives the Owl some heirs, And while at early eve abroad he fares, In quest of birds and mice for food, Our Eagle haply spies the brood, As on some craggy rock they sprawl, Or nestle in some ruined wall, (But which it matters not at all,) And thinks them ugly little frights, Grim, sad, with voice like shrieking sprites.

"These chicks," says he, "with looks almost infernal, Can't be the darlings of our friend nocturnal.

I'll sup of them." And so he did, not slightly: He never sups, if he can help it, lightly.

The Owl return'd; and, sad, he found Nought left but claws upon the ground.

He pray'd the G.o.ds above and G.o.ds below To smite the brigand who had caused his woe.

Quoth one, "On you alone the blame must fall; Thinking your like the loveliest of all, You told the Eagle of your young ones' graces; You gave the picture of their faces: Had it of likeness any traces?"

The Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot

An Iron Pot proposed To an Earthen Pot a journey.

The latter was opposed, Expressing the concern he Had felt about the danger Of going out a ranger.

He thought the kitchen hearth The safest place on earth For one so very brittle.

"For thee, who art a kettle, And hast a tougher skin, There's nought to keep thee in."

"I'll be thy bodyguard,"

Replied the Iron Pot; "If anything that's hard Should threaten thee a jot, Between you I will go, And save thee from the blow."

This offer him persuaded.

The Iron Pot paraded Himself as guard and guide Close at his cousin's side.

Now, in their tripod way, They hobble as they may; And eke together bolt At every little jolt-- Which gives the crockery pain; But presently his comrade hits So hard, he dashes him to bits, Before he can complain.

_Take care that you a.s.sociate With equals only, lest your fate Between these pots should find its mate._

The Wolf and the Lean Dog

A Troutling, some time since, Endeavoured vainly to convince A hungry fisherman Of his unfitness for the frying-pan.

The fisherman had reason good-- The troutling did the best he could-- Both argued for their lives.

Now, if my present purpose thrives, I'll prop my former proposition By building on a small addition.

A certain Wolf, in point of wit The prudent fisher's opposite, A Dog once finding far astray, Prepared to take him as his prey.

The Dog his leanness plead; "Your lords.h.i.+p, sure," he said, "Cannot be very eager To eat a dog so meagre.

To wait a little do not grudge: The wedding of my master's only daughter Will cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter; And then, as you yourself can judge, I cannot help becoming fatter."

The Wolf, believing, waived the matter, And so, some days therefrom, Return'd with sole design to see If fat enough his Dog might be.

The rogue was now at home: He saw the hunter through the fence.

"My friend," said he, "please wait; I'll be with you a moment hence, And fetch our porter of the gate."

This porter was a dog immense, That left to wolves no future tense.

Suspicion gave our Wolf a jog-- It might not be so safely tamper'd.

"My service to your porter dog,"

Was his reply, as off he scampered.

His legs proved better than his head, And saved him life to learn his trade.

The Ears of the Hare

Some beast with horns did gore The Lion; and that sovereign dread, Resolved to suffer so no more, Straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said, All sorts of beasts with horns-- Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns.

Such brutes all promptly fled.

A Hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving, Could hardly help believing That some vile spy for horns would take them, And food for accusation make them.

"Adieu," said he, "my neighbour cricket; I take my foreign ticket.

My ears, should I stay here, Will turn to horns, I fear; And were they shorter than a bird's, I fear the effect of words."

"These horns!" the cricket answered; "why, G.o.d made them ears who can deny?"

"Yes," said the coward, "still they'll make them horns, And horns, perhaps, of unicorns!

In vain shall I protest, With all the learning of the schools: My reasons they will send to rest In th' Hospital of Fools."

The a.s.s Carrying Relics

An a.s.s, with relics for his load, Supposed the wors.h.i.+p on the road Meant for himself alone, And took on lofty airs, Receiving as his own The incense and the prayers.

Some one, who saw his great mistake, Cried, "Master Donkey, do not make Yourself so big a fool.

Not you they wors.h.i.+p, but your pack; They praise the idols on your back, And count yourself a paltry tool."

_'Tis thus a brainless magistrate Is honoured for his robe of state._

The Two Mules

Two Mules were bearing on their backs, One, oats; the other, silver of the tax.

The latter glorying in his load, March'd proudly forward on the road; And, from the jingle of his bell, 'Twas plain he liked his burden well.

But in a wild-wood glen A band of robber men Rush'd forth upon the twain.

Well with the silver pleased, They by the bridle seized The treasure Mule so vain.

Poor Mule! in struggling to repel His ruthless foes, he fell Stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing, He cried: "Is this the lot they promised me?

My humble friend from danger free, While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?"

"My friend," his fellow-mule replied, "It is not well to have one's work too high.

If thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as I, Thou wouldst not thus have died."

The Lion and the Gnat

"Go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!"

Thus said the royal Lion to the Gnat.

The Gnat declared immediate war.

"Think you," said he, "your royal name To me worth caring for?

Think you I tremble at your power or fame?

The ox is bigger far than you; Yet him I drive, and all his crew."

This said, as one that did no fear owe, Himself he blew the battle charge, Himself both trumpeter and hero.

At first he play'd about at large, Then on the Lion's neck, at leisure, settled, And there the royal beast full sorely nettled.

With foaming mouth, and flas.h.i.+ng eye, He roars. All creatures hide or fly-- Such mortal terror at The work of one poor Gnat!

With constant change of his attack, The snout now stinging, now the back, And now the chambers of the nose; The pigmy fly no mercy shows.

The Lion's rage was at its height; His viewless foe now laugh'd outright, When on his battle-ground he saw, That every savage tooth and claw Had got its proper beauty By doing b.l.o.o.d.y duty; Himself, the hapless Lion tore his hide, And lash'd with sounding tail from side to side.

Ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse!