A Cock she met—her son, she knew;
And in her heart affection grew.
"My son," says she, "I grant, your years
Have reached beyond a mother's cares;
I see you vigorous, strong, and bold;
I hear, with joy, your triumphs told.
'Tis not from Cocks thy fate I dread;
But let thy ever-wary tread
Avoid yon well; that fatal place
Is sure perdition to our race.
Print this, my counsel, on thy breast;
To the just gods I leave the rest."
He thanked her care; yet, day by day,
His bosom burned to disobey;
And every time the well he saw,
Scorned, in his heart, the foolish law;
Near and more near each day he drew,
And longed to try the dangerous view.
"Why was this idle charge?" he cries;
"Let courage female fears despise!
Or did she doubt my heart was brave,
And, therefore, this injunction gave?
Or does her harvest store the place,
A treasure for her younger race?
And would she thus my search prevent?—
I stand resolved, and dare th' event."
Thus said, he mounts the margin's round,
And pries into the depth profound.
He stretched his neck; and, from below,
With stretching neck advanced a foe:
With wrath his ruffled plumes he tears;
The foe with ruffled plumes appears:
Threat answered threat, his fury grew;
Headlong to meet the war he flew;
But when the watery death he found,
He thus lamented as he drowned:
"I ne'er had been in this condition,
Had I obeyed the prohibition."
MORAL.
Obey your parents, or 'twill be your fate,
To feel repentance when it comes too late.