  An Ant who in a brook would drink Fell off the bank. He tried To swim, and felt his courage sink-- This ocean seemed so wide. But for a dove who flew above He would have drowned and died. The friendly Dove within her beak A bridge of grass-stem bore: On this the Ant, though worn and weak. Contrived to reach the shore Said he: "The tact of this kind act I'll cherish evermore." Behold! A barefoot wretch went by With slingshot in his hand. Said he: "You'll make a pigeon pie That will be kind of grand." He meant to murder the gentle bird-- Who did not understand. Said me, You'll make a pigeon-pie. 10,3 The Ant then stung him on the heel (So quick to see the sling). He turned his head, and missed a meal: The pigeon pie took wing. And so the Dove lived on to love-- Beloved by everything. Amor Vincit. |
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