  A sage awakened by the dawn, By music of the groves was drawn From tree to tree: responsive notes Arose from many warbling throats. As he advanced, the warblers ceased; Silent the bird and scared the beast— The nightingale then ceased her lay, And the scared leveret ran away. The sage then pondered, and his eye Roamed round to learn the reason why. He marked a pheasant, as she stood Upon a bank, above her brood; With pride maternal beat her breast As she harangued and led from nest: "Play on, my infant brood—this glen Is free from bad marauding men. O trust the hawk, and trust the kite, Sooner than man—detested wight! Ingratitude sticks to his mind,— A vice inherent to the kind. The sheep, that clothes him with her wool, Dies at the shambles—butcher's school; The honey-bees with waxen combs Are slain by hives and hecatombs; And the sagacious goose, who gives The plume whereby he writes and lives, And as a guerdon for its use He cuts the quill and eats the goose. Avoid the monster: where he roams He desolates our raided homes; And where such acts and deeds are boasted, I hear we pheasants all are roasted." |
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