THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
A fox in life's extreme decay
Weak, sick, and faint expiring lay;
All appetite had left his maw,
And age disarmed his mumbling jaw.
His numerous race around him stand
To learn their dying sire's command:
He raised his head with whining moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone:
Oh, sons, from evil ways depart ;
My crimes lay heavy on my heart.
See, see, the murdered geese appear
Why are those bleeding turkeys here?
Why all around this cackling train
Who haunt my ears for chickens slain ?”
The hungry foxes round them stared,
And for the promised feast prepared.
"Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer?
Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here.
These are the phantoms of your brain ;
And your sons lick their lips in vain.”
"O, gluttons," said the drooping sire,
“Restrain inordinate desire,
Your liquorish taste you shall deplore
When peace of conscience is no more.
Does not the hound betray our pace,
And gins and guns destroy our race?
Thieves dread the searching eye of power,
And never feel the quiet hour.
Old age (which few of us shall know)
Now puts a period to my woe.
Would you true happiness attain,
Let honesty your passions rein;
So live in credit and esteem
And the good name you lost, redeem."
"The counsel's good," a son replies,
"Could we perform what you advise.
Think what our ancestors have done;
A line of thieves from son to son,
To us descends the long disgrace,
And infamy hath marked our race.
Though we like harmless sheep should feed,
Honest in thought, in word, in deed,
Whatever hen-roost is decreased,
We shall be thought to share the feast ;
The change shall never be believed,
A lost good name is ne'er retrieved."
"Nay then," replies the feeble fox,
("But hark! I hear a hen that clucks!)
Go: but be moderate in your food;
A chicken, too, might do me good."
Where the bee sucks, there lurk I,
In a cowslip's bell I lie,
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly
After summer merrily;
Merrily, merrily shall I live now
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL AND THE
GRASSHOPPER'S FEAST.
Come take up your hats, and away let us haste,
To the Butterfly's Ball, and the Grasshopper's Feast;
The trumpeter Gadfly has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for
On the smooth-shaven grass, by the side of a wood,
Beneath a broad oak which for ages had stood,
See the children of earth, and the tenants of air,
To an evening's amusement together repair.
And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back;
And there came the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their relations, green, orange, and blue.
And there came the Moth, with her plumage of down,
And the Hornet with jacket of yellow and brown,
Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring,
But they promised, that evening, to lay by their sting.
Then the sly little Dormouse peeped out of his hole,
And led to the feast his blind cousin the Mole;
And the Snail, with her horns peeping out of her shell,
Came, fatigued with the distance, the length of an ell.
A Mushroom the table, and on it was spread,
A Water-dock Leaf, which their table-cloth made;
The viands were various, to each of their taste,
And the Bee brought the honey to sweeten the feast.
With steps more majestic the Snail did advance,
And he promised the gazers a minuet to dance:
But they all laughed so loud, that he drew in his head,
And went in his own little chamber, to bed.
Then as evening gave way to the shadows of night,
Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with his light.
So home let us hasten while yet we can see;
For no watchman is waiting for you or for me!
More swift than lightning can I fly,
About this aëry welkin soon,
And in a minute's space descry
Each thing that's done below the moon :
There's not a hag
Or cry," Ware goblin!" where I go;
But Robin I
And send them hoine with Ho! ho! ho!
Where'er such wanderers I meet
As from their night sports they trudge home With counterfeiting voice I greet,
And call on them with me to roam.
Through woods, through lakes,
Through bogs, through brakes;
Or else unseen with them I go,
All in the nick,
To play some trick,
And frolick it with Ho! ho! ho!
Sometimes I meet them like a man:
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can,
And trip and trot about them round;
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