The Talking Beasts Part 43

The Council of Horses

Upon a time, a neighing steed, Who grazed among a numerous breed, With mutiny had fired the train, And spread dissension through the plain.

On matters that concerned the state The Council met in grand debate.

A Colt, whose eyeb.a.l.l.s flamed with ire, Elate with strength and youthful fire, In haste stepped forth before the rest, And thus the listening throng addressed:

"Good G.o.ds! how abject is our race, Condemned to slavery and disgrace!

Shall we our servitude retain Because our sires have borne the chain?

Consider, friends, your strength and might; 'Tis conquest to a.s.sert your right.

How c.u.mb'rous is the gilded coach!

The pride of man is our reproach.

Were we designed for daily toil; To drag the ploughshare through the soil; To sweat in harness through the road; To groan beneath the carrier's load?

How feeble are the two-legged kind!

What force is in our nerves combined!

Shall, then, our n.o.bler jaws submit To foam, and champ the galling bit?

Shall haughty man my back bestride?

Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?

Forbid it, heavens! Reject the rein; Your shame, your infamy, disdain.

Let him the lion first control, And still the tiger's famished growl; Let us, like them, our freedom claim, And make him tremble at our name."

A general nod approved the cause, And all the circle neighed applause, When, lo! with grave and solemn face, A Steed advanced before the race, With age and long experience wise; Around he cast his thoughtful eyes, And to the murmurs of the train Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain: "When I had health and strength like you, The toils of servitude I knew; Now grateful man rewards my pains, And gives me all these wide domains.

At will I crop the year's increase; My latter life is rest and peace.

I grant, to man we lend our pains, And aid him to correct the plains; But doth he not divide the care Through all the labours of the year?

How many thousand structures rise To fence us from inclement skies!

For us he bears the sultry day, And stores up all our winter's hay: He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain, We share the toil and share the grain.

Since every creature was decreed To aid each other's mutual need, Appease your discontented mind, And act the part by Heaven a.s.signed."

The tumult ceased. The colt submitted, And, like his ancestors, was bitted.

JOHN GAY

The Hare and Many Friends

Friends.h.i.+p, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame; The child whom many fathers share Hath seldom known a father's care.

'Tis thus in friends.h.i.+ps; who depend On many, rarely find a friend.

A Hare, who in a civil way Complied with everything, like Gay, Was known by all the b.e.s.t.i.a.l train Who haunt the wood or graze the plain; Her care was never to offend, And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.

She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; She hears the near advance of death; She doubles to mislead the Hound, And measures back her mazy round, Till, fainting in the public way, Half dead with fear she gasping lay.

What transport in her bosom grew When first the Horse appeared in view!

"Let me," says she, "your back ascend.

And owe my safety to a friend.

You know my feet betray my flight; To friends.h.i.+p every burden's light,"

The Horse replied, "Poor honest Puss, It grieves my heart to see you thus: Be comforted, relief is near, For all your friends are in the rear."

She next the stately Bull implored; And thus replied the mighty lord: "Since every beast alive can tell That I sincerely wish you well, I may without offence pretend To take the freedom of a friend.

Love calls me hence; a fav'rite Cow Expects me near the barley-mow, And when a lady's in the case You know all other things give place.

To leave you thus might seem unkind; But see, the Goat is just behind."

The Goat remarked her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye.

"My back," says she, "may do you harm.

The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."

The Sheep was feeble, and complained His sides a load of wool sustained: Said he was slow, confessed his fears; For Hounds eat Sheep as well as Hares.

She now the trotting Calf addressed To save from death a friend distressed.

"Shall I," says he, "of tender age, In this important care engage?

Older and abler pa.s.sed you by-- How strong are those; how weak am I!

Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence; Excuse me, then; you know my heart, But dearest friends, alas! must part.

How shall we all lament! Adieu!

For see, the Hounds are just in view."

JOHN GAY

The Nightingale and the Glowworm

A Nightingale, that all day long Had cheered the village with his song, Nor had at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appet.i.te; When, looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, A something s.h.i.+ning in the dark, And knew the Glowworm by his spark; So stepping down from hawthorn top, He thought to put him in his crop.

The Worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent: "Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, "As much as I your minstrelsy, You would abhor to do me wrong, As much as I to spoil your song; For, 'twas the self-same Power Divine Taught you to sing and me to s.h.i.+ne; That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night."

The Songster heard his short oration, And warbling out his approbation.

Released him, as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else.

Hence, jarring sectaries may learn Their real interest to discern, That brother should not war with brother, And worry and devour each other; But sing and s.h.i.+ne by sweet consent, Until life's poor transient night is spent.

Respecting in each other's case.

The gifts of Nature and of Grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name Who studiously make peace their aim; Peace both the duty and the prize Of him that creeps and him that flies.

WILLIAM COWPER

The Raven

A Raven, while with glossy breast Her new-laid eggs she fondly pressed, And on her wickerwork high mounted, Her chickens prematurely counted, (A fault philosophers might blame If quite exempted from the same).

Enjoyed at ease the genial day; 'Twas April, as the b.u.mpkins say; The legislature called it May.

But suddenly a wind, as high As ever swept a winter sky, Shook the young leaves about her ears And filled her with a thousand fears, Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, And spread her golden hopes below.

But just at eve the blowing weather Changed, and her fears were hushed together: "And now," quoth poor unthinking Ralph,[1]

"'Tis over, and the brood is safe."

(For Ravens, though, as birds of omen, They teach both conjurers and old women To tell us what is to befall, Can't prophesy themselves at all.) The morning came, when Neighbour Hodge, Who long had marked her airy lodge, And destined all the treasure there A gift to his expecting fair, Climbed, like a squirrel to his dray, And bore the worthless prize away.

Moral

'Tis Providence alone secures, In every change, both mine and yours: Safety consists not in escape From dangers of a frightful shape; An earthquake may be bid to spare The man that's strangled by a hair.

Fate steals along with silent tread Found oftenest in what least we dread, Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the suns.h.i.+ne strikes the blow.

WILLIAM COWPER

[1]p.r.o.nounced Rafe.