CXXVI THE FOX AND THE CAT The fox and the cat, as they travell'd one day, "Tis great,' says the Fox, 'to make justice our guide!' 'How god-like is mercy!' Grimalkin replied. Whilst thus they proceeded, a wolf from the wood, Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood, eat.' Grimalkin's astonish'd !-the fox stood aghast, To see the fell beast at his bloody repast. 'What a wretch,' says the cat, "'tis the vilest of brutes; Does he feed upon flesh when there's herbage and roots?' Cries the fox, 'While our oaks give us acorns so good, What a tyrant is this to spill innocent blood!' Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd still, Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a mill. Sly Reynard survey'd them with gluttonous eyes, And made, spite of morals, a pullet his prize. A mouse, too, that chanc'd from her covert to stray, The greedy Grimalkin secured as her prey. A spider that sat in her web on the wall, Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pitied their fall; She cried, 'Of such murders, how guiltless am I !' So ran to regale on a new-taken fly. J. Cunningham CXXVII THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY The noon was shady, and soft airs My spaniel, prettiest of his race, (Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, Pursued the swallow o'er the meads It was the time when Ouse display'd With cane extended far I sought But still the prize, though nearly caught, Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains But, with a chirrup clear and strong, I thence withdrew, and follow'd long My ramble ended, I return'd; The floating wreath again discern'd, I saw him with that lily cropp'd, Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd Charm'd with the sight, 'The world,' I cried, 'Shall hear of this thy deed; My dog shall mortify the pride 'But chief myself I will enjoin, Awake at duty's call, To show a love as prompt as thine To Him who gives me all.' W. Cowper CXXVIII AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST Tread lightly here, for here, 'tis said, S. Rogers CXXIX BAUCIS AND PHILEMON In ancient times, as story tells, The saints would often leave their cells, Tried every tone might pity win; Our wandering saints, in woful state, Treated at this ungodly rate, Having through all the village past, To a small cottage came at last Where dwelt a good old honest yeoman Call'd in the neighbourhood Philemon ; Who kindly did these saints invite In his poor hut to pass the night; And then the hospitable sire Bid goody Baucis mend the fire; While he from out the chimney took A flitch of bacon off the hook, And freely from the fattest side Cut out large slices to be fried; Then stepp'd aside to fetch them drink Fill'd a large jug up to the brink, And saw it fairly twice go round; Yet (what is wonderful !) they found 'Twas still replenish'd to the top, As if they ne'er had touch'd a drop. The good old couple were amaz'd, And often on each other gaz'd; For both were frightened to the heart, And just began to cry, 'What ar't!' Then softly turn'd aside to view Whether the lights were burning blue. 'Good folks, you need not be afraid, We are but saints,' the hermits said; No hurt shall come to you or yours: But for that pack of churlish boors, Not fit to live on Christian ground, They and their houses shall be drown'd; |