“The heart of man is hard as a stone,
“He gives away nothing gratis;
“They’ll drive us out of our stables, and we
“Shall starve—what a cruel fate ’tis!
“We cannot borrow and cannot steal
“Like mortals whose natures are blacker;
“We cannot fawn like men and dogs,
“But shall fall a prey to the knacker.”
Thus grumbled the horse, and deeply sigh’d,—
Meanwhile the ass hard by him
Had quietly chew’d two thistle-tops,
As if nothing could terrify him.
He presently answer’d in dainty tones,
With his tongue first licking his muzzle:
“With what the future may have in store,
“My brains I shall not puzzle.
“You horses proud are threaten’d, no doubt,
“By a future that’s far from pleasant;
“But we modest asses are not afraid
“Of dangers future or present.
“That grey horses, and chesnut, and piebald, and black,
“May be done without, true, alas! is;
“But Mister Steam, with his chimney long,
“Can never replace us asses.
“However clever may be the machines
“Made by man with his senses besotted,
“The ass as his portion will always have
“Sure means of existence allotted.
“Its asses will Heaven, I’m sure, ne’er desert,
“Who, moved by a calm sense of duty,
“Turn the mill every day, as their fathers have done,—
“A sight not deficient in beauty.
“The mill-wheel clatters, the miller works hard,
“The meal in the sack well shaking,
“And people eat their bread and their rolls,
“As soon as they’ve finished the baking.
“In Nature’s old-fashion’d and jogtrot way
“The world will keep spinning for ever;
“And as changeless even as Nature herself,
“The ass will alter never.”
* * *
MORAL.