THE BUSTARD.
The sluggish Bustard, in her foolish pate,
Vexed with her young ones' awkward flight,
Purposed to raise a brood more light,
Even though 't were illegitimate.
For this end many an egg she stole
From Partridge, Pigeon and the Kite,
And sundry birds of easy flight;
And in her nest mixed up the whole.
Long while and patiently she sat upon them;
Though some proved addled, yet, in time, the rest
With a fine brood of nurslings filled the nest;
And many a kind, of course, was found among them.
A host of birds collects, at her request,
To admire her progeny, so rare and new;
But each away with his own offspring flew,
And left poor Bustard with an empty nest.
Ye, who the ideas of other men brood over,—
Bring out your fledglings. Let us see them fly!
Then, "This, and this is mine," resounds the cry
How much belongs to you, we'll soon discover.
FABLE XVII.
THE LINNET AND THE SWAN.
"Keep silence, noisy little one,"
Unto a Linnet said the Swan.
"It almost tempts myself to sing; although
No voice, our feathered tribes among,
Compares with mine in melody, you know."
The Linnet still maintained her joyous trill.
"What insolence is this!" continued he.
"See how this tiny warbler taunteth me!
Naught but my great consideration
Prevents your well-deserved humiliation,
By the display of my superior skill."
"Would you might sing!" replied the little bird;
"With boundless curiosity we all—
All other voice by silent wonder shackled—
Should listen to that harmony divine,
Which boasts far greater fame than mine;
Though none of us, as yet, hath ever heard."
Kashly the Swan essayed—but only cackled.
Not strange, that empty reputation,
Without, or skill or genius, at foundation,
Should, upon trial, cheat the expectation!