 | |
| |
| The sage, awaked at early day, |
| Through the deep forest took his way; |
| Drawn by the music of the groves, |
| Along the winding gloom he roves: |
| 5 | From tree to tree, the warbling throats |
| Prolong the sweet alternate notes. |
| But where he pass'd, he terror threw, |
| The song broke short, the warblers flew; |
| The thrushes chattered with affright, |
| 10 | And nightingales abhorred his sight; |
| |
| All animals before him ran, |
| To shun the hateful sight of man. |
| 'Whence is this dread of every creature? |
| Fly they our figure or our nature?' |
| 15 | As thus he walked in musing thought, |
| His ear imperfect accents caught; |
| With cautious step he nearer drew, |
| By the thick shade concealed from view. |
| High on the branch a pheasant stood, |
| 20 | Around her all her listening brood; |
| |
| Proud of the blessings of her nest, |
| She thus a mother's care expressed: |
| 'No dangers here shall circumvent, |
| Within the woods enjoy content. |
| 25 | Sooner the hawk or vulture trust, |
| Than man; of animals the worst: |
| In him ingratitude you find, |
| A vice peculiar to the kind. |
| The sheep whose annual fleece is dyed, |
| 30 | To guard his health, and serve his pride, |
| |
| Forced from his fold and native plain, |
| Is in the cruel shambles slain. |
| The swarms, who, with industrious skill, |
| His hives with wax and honey fill, |
| 35 | In vain whole summer days employed, |
| Their stores are sold, their race destroyed. |
| What tribute from the goose is paid! |
| Does not her wing all science aid! |
| Does it not lovers' hearts explain, |
| 40 | And drudge to raise the merchant's gain? |
| |
| What now rewards this general use? |
| He takes the quills, and eats the goose. |
| Man then avoid, detest his ways; |
| So safety shall prolong your days. |
| 45 | When services are thus acquitted, |
| Be sure we pheasants must be spitted.' |
