Part 4 (2/2)

Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit, The type and ornament of wit: But now, alas! we're quite neglected, And a pert Sparrow's more respected.”

A Sparrow, who was lodged beside, O'erhears them sooth each other's pride.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

And thus he nimbly vents his heat: ”Who meets a fool must find conceit.

I grant you were at Athens graced, And on Minerva's helm were placed; But ev'ry bird that wings the sky, Except an Owl, can tell you why.

From hence they taught their schools to know How false we judge by outward show; That we should never looks esteem, Since fools as wise as you might seem.

Would you contempt and scorn avoid, Let your vain-glory be destroy'd: Humble your arrogance of thought, Pursue the ways by Nature taught: So shall you find delicious fare, And grateful farmers praise your care; So shall sleek mice your chase reward, And no keen cat find more regard.”

GAY.

THE BEETLE.

See the beetle that crawls in your way, And runs to escape from your feet; His house is a hole in the clay, And the bright morning dew is his meat.

But if you more closely behold This insect you think is so mean, You will find him all spangled with gold, And s.h.i.+ning with crimson and green.

Tho' the peac.o.c.k's bright plumage we prize, As he spreads out his tail to the sun, The beetle we should not despise, Nor over him carelessly run.

They both the same Maker declare-- They both the same wisdom display, The same beauties in common they share-- Both are equally happy and gay.

And remember that while you would fear The beautiful peac.o.c.k to kill, You would tread on the poor beetle here, And think you were doing no ill.

But though 'tis so humble, be sure, As mangled and bleeding it lies, A pain as severe 'twill endure, As if 'twere a giant that dies.

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THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter H.]

Hark! how the furnace pants and roars, Hark! how the molten metal pours, As, bursting from its iron doors, It glitters in the sun.

Now through the ready mould it flows, Seething and hissing as it goes, And filling every crevice up, As the red vintage fills the cup-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

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