THE DOG AND THE SHADOW.
FABLE XXXVIII.
THE HERMIT AND THE BEAR.
Once on a time, a mountain Bear
Lived in a forest drear, with no Bears near him;
Fat, fierce, and sulky.
Nor man nor other beast approached his lair;
His neighbours all despise, or hate, or fear him.
'Tis good to talk—to hold one's tongue—
Though either in excess be wrong:
Our hermit bulky,
So shaggy, sullen, taciturn, and rude,
Bear as he was, grew sick of solitude.
At the same time, by chance, retired
Far from the world, a man advanced in age,
But stout and healthy.
Not with devotion's flame his heart was fired;
Not prayer and fasting occupied the sage;
Though on mankind he shut his door,
No vows of poverty he swore:
The wight was wealthy.
But by some treacherous friend, or fair, betrayed,
He lived with plants, and communed with his spade.
High priest of Flora you might call him;
Nor less was he the favourite of Pomona.
But one day, walking,
He found it dull; and should some ill befall him,
In his sweet paradise, he felt alone,—Ah!
For neither rose, nor pink, nor vine,
Except in such a lay as mine,
Are given to talking.
His head old Time had now long years heaped many on;
So he resolved to look for some companion.