{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_48153/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_48153","id":"gutenberg_48153","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48153","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Humorous poetry"],"text":"Note: Images of the original pages are available through\n      Internet Archive. See\n      https://archive.org/details/fablesronaldross00rossrich\n\n\n\n\n\nFABLES\n\nby\n\nRONALD ROSS\n\n\nOF WHICH COPIES TO THE NUMBER OF TWO HUNDRED AND\nFIFTY ARE NOW PRIVATELY PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY\nPRESS OF LIVERPOOL, ANNO DOMINI MCMVII, AND ARE\nTO BE HAD OF THE AUTHOR AT THE UNIVERSITY AND\nOF HENRY YOUNG AND SONS OF SOUTH CASTLE STREET,\nLIVERPOOL, FOR TWO SHILLINGS AND SIX PENCE.\n\nEntered at Stationers\u2019 Hall\n\n\n\n\n            _For my Children_\n                     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .\n\n                            _These Fables were written in India\n            between the years_ 1880 _and_ 1890\n\n\n\n\n_CONTENTS_\n\n\n  _AN EXPOSTULATION WITH TRUTH_\n\n  _ARIEL AND THE HIPPOPOTAMUS_\n\n  _THE FROG, THE FAIRY, AND THE MOON_\n\n  _THE TROLL AND THE MOUNTAIN_\n\n  _THE TOAD AND THE FAYS_\n\n  _THE PARSON AND THE ANGEL_\n\n  _PUCK AND THE CROCODILE_\n\n  _THE VIRTUOUS GOAT_\n\n  _THE TRUTH OF TRUTH_\n\n  _THE MAN, THE LION, AND THE FLY_\n\n  _ORPHEUS AND THE BUSY ONES_\n\n  _THE POET AND THE PENMAN_\n\n  _THE PITEOUS EWE_\n\n  _THE CONTEST OF BIRDS_\n\n  _ALASTOR_\n\n  _OCEAN AND THE ROCK_\n\n  _DEATH AND LOVE_\n\n  _CALYPSO TO ULYSSES_\n\n  _THE STAR AND THE SUN_\n\n  _THE POET\u2019S RETIREMENT_\n\n\n\n\n_An Expostulation with Truth_\n\n_Uttered by the Well Meaning Poet_\n\n\n    Altho\u2019 you live aloft so far,\n    Transcendent Goddess, in your star,\n    Pray, try to see us as we are.\n\n    Consider\u2014and be more forgiving\u2014\n    Life is not reasoning but believing,\n    And we must work to get our living.\n\n    Expound with logic most exact\n    And rightly marshal every fact\u2014\n    D\u2019you think we thank you for your act?\n\n    D\u2019you think we\u2019ve nothing else to do\n    But to distinguish false from true?\u2014\n    We\u2019re lawyers, doctors, parsons too.\n\n    But for our little fond delusions\n    We\u2019d never come to our conclusions,\n    And then\u2014just think of the confusions!\n\n    You pain us when you contradict.\n    Your presence would the less afflict\n    If you were not so very strict.\n\n    Dear Lady, take this sober view,\n    It matters little what is true\u2014\n    The world is not the place for you.\n\n    I rede you therefore, go away;\n    Or, if you really mean to stay,\n    Let\u2019s hear your views another day.\n\n\n\n\n_Ariel and the Hippopotamus_\n\n_Dedicated to Rural Magnates_\n\n\n    Fine Ariel, serf to Prospero,\n    Sped on the Great Meridian\n    For jetty pearls from Andaman\n    To make a chaplet to declare\n    The beauty of Miranda\u2019s hair,\n    When at the desert African,\n    Out of his master\u2019s ken, and slow,\n    Lag\u2019d on his errand, loth to go:\n    For sweltering Sol with leaden beam\n    Made stagnant all the windy stream\n    And suck\u2019d from earth a stifling steam.\n    There idling still, the lazy Sprite\n    Beheld below, beneath his flight,\n    The Lord of Rivers, blackly bright,\n    Who, planted in a marshy bed,\n    On mighty rushes munching fed\n    And sigh\u2019d for more the more he sped.\n    \u2018Good day, my lord; I hope you\u2019re well,\u2019\n    Quoth then the jocund Ariel.\n    \u2018Why, thank\u2019ee, Sir, sound as a bell;\n    Save I\u2019d complain, did I but choose,\n    My appetite\u2019s so poor I lose\n    Half this fine fodder. What\u2019s the news?\u2019\n    \u2018Great Sir, the news I brought away\n    Is not so good, I\u2019m sad to say\u2014\n    Jove has the gout again to-day.\u2019\n    \u2018Why,\u2019 said the Hippopotamus,\n    \u2018That ain\u2019t no call to make a fuss;\n    I\u2019ve had the same and am no wuss.\u2019\n    \u2018\u2019Tis said that Cytherea, queen\n    Of beauty, weds to-day at e\u2019en\n    The sooty Vulcan hump\u2019d and mean.\u2019\n    \u2018There,\u2019 said the Hippopotamus,\n    \u2018That party I will not discuss.\n    She might have me and do no wuss.\u2019\n    \u2018Apollo, lord of lay and lyre,\n    Hath seated now his Heavenly Choir\n    Upon Parnassus\u2019 starry spire.\u2019\n    \u2018Foh!\u2019 said the Hippopotamus,\n    \u2018For that I do not care a cuss,\n    And they may sing until they bus\u2019!\u2019\n    \u2018Jove, sad for Io, hath aver\u2019d\n    No sound of laughter shall be heard\n    One year in Heav\u2019n, nor witty word.\u2019\n    \u2018Ah!\u2019 said the Hippopotamus,\n    \u2018That there don\u2019t suit the likes of us.\n    I vow I won\u2019t be muzzled thus.\u2019\n    \u2018Farewell, Sir,\u2019 quoth the lissom Sprite;\n    \u2018Behoves me tear me from your sight.\n    I must about the world ere night.\u2019\n    \u2018Farewell, young friend,\u2019 responded he;\n    \u2018The work I have to do you see.\n    But if you hear the Thund\u2019rer sigh\n    For counsel, Mars for an ally,\n    Dian for love, I think that I\u2014\n    I pray you say a word for me.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_The Frog, the Fairy, and the Moon_\n\n_Dedicated to Lovers_\n\n\n    The Frog that loved the Changing Star\n    Was worship\u2019d by a Fairy,\n    Who made for him a waistcoat trim\n    Of silk and satin, soft and airy,\n    Button\u2019d with eyes of fireflies\n    In manner military.\n    And more to move his languid love\n    A crimson cap she made him,\n    According to many, plumed with antennae\n    Of moths that rob the flowers\u2019 honey;\n    And with her kisses, lovers\u2019 money,\n    For that she gave she paid him.\n    She fed him too, till he was blue,\n    With endearing terms on caddis worms;\n    And caught for him the wriggling germs\n    Of midges; and with tender pats\n    She wiled and woo\u2019d him while he chew\u2019d \u2019em:\n    Till he said, \u2018Bother! I love another.\n    I love the Star I see afar,\n    That changeth oft her fires so soft\n    From blue to red and red to blue;\n    And that is why I love not you.\n    Therefore I pray you take away\n    Your tedious arm, which does me harm\n    Because it makes me feel too warm.\n    But give to me my new guitar\n    That I may sing to yonder Star.\u2019\n    With that he gaped and guggled so\n    The Fairy into fits did go;\n    And he bounded near and bounded far,\n    Strumming the strings of his guitar,\n    And tried to reach the Changing Star.\n    And all the while with his splay feet\n    Kept time unto the music meet.\n    With hat and waistcoat on he sprang,\n    And as he bounded still he sang.\n    And this the Saga says is why\n    The Frog he always jumps so high;\n    For, though the Star is very far,\n    To reach it he must ever try,\n    Until it\u2019s time for him to die.\n\n    As for the foolish Fay, \u2019tis wist,\n    She wept herself into a mist,\n    Which wanders where the Clouds are strewn\n    About the deathbed of the Moon,\n    When with wan lips, in sudden swoon\n    (Because her unkind lord, the Sun,\n    Will ever from her loveless run),\n    She cries amid her Starry Maids:\n    \u2018Ah me, alas, my beauty fades!\u2019\u2014\n    And so sinks down into the Shades.\n\n\n\n\n_The Troll and the Mountain_\n\n_Dedicated to the Great_\n\n\n    Said the Troll to the Mountain, \u2018Old fellow, how goes it?\u2019\n    The Mountain responded, \u2018My answer\u2014suppose it.\u2019\n    Said the Troll, \u2018Dear old friend, you are grumpy to-day.\u2019\n    Said the Mountain, \u2018I think you had best run away.\u2019\n    The Troll said, \u2018You suffer, old boss, from the blues.\u2019\n    The Mountain retorted, \u2018I may if I choose.\u2019\n    \u2018Ah, that,\u2019 cried the Troll, \u2018is effect of the liver.\u2019\n    \u2018Take care,\u2019 quoth the Hill, \u2018or I\u2019ll give you the shiver.\u2019\n    \u2018By my cap and its feather,\u2019 the Spirit replies,\n    \u2018You\u2019ll be getting too portly without exercise.\u2019\n    \u2018You pert little fly,\u2019 said the Rock in a rage,\n    \u2018I will teach you to chaff at a hill of my age.\u2019\n    So he jump\u2019d up to punish the impudent Fay,\n    Who wisely retorted by running away;\n    Until the old Mountain broke right down the middle,\n    When back he came nimbly and played on the fiddle.\n    My Advice to all Mountains that make such a stir, it\u2019s\n    \u2018Don\u2019t get in a passion with pert little spirits.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_The Toad and the Fays_\n\n_Dedicated to Philosophers_\n\n\n    There sat a Toad upon a lawn\n    Lost in a dream of fancy;\n    His right foot in a Rose was set,\n    His left upon a Violet,\n    His paunch upon a Pansy.\n    Some merry Elfins passing by\n    At sight of him were sore affrighted,\n    And would have fled; until he said,\n    \u2018My little dears, if you knew why\n    I look to heaven thus and sigh,\n    I think that you would be delighted.\n    The Stars rise up and fall, the Stars\n    Do shine in pools and stilly places,\n    The Lilies blink on sandy bars,\n    The Midges move in flickering mazes;\n    But I profoundly pore upon,\n    And reason, think, and cogitate,\n    And marvel, muse, and meditate,\n    Why had the ancient Mastodon\n    So few sad hairs upon his pate?\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_The Parson and the Angel_\n\n\n    Thus spake the Preacher. All aver\u2019d\n    A saintlier man was never heard.\n    But no one knew that o\u2019er his head\n    An Angel wrote the things he said,\n    And these not only, but as well\n    The things he thought but did not tell;\n    And thus the double discourse fell.\n    \u2018Beloved Brethren, never do\n    What makes your (neighbour) censure you;\n    That is, conceive yourself as good\n    (And so impress the neighbourhood).\n    Make you yourself a law to self\n    And so you will (enjoy yourself).\n    For the best way to \u2019scape the devil\n    Is to (protest you are not evil).\n    For virtue lies in this, I take it,\n    To drink the physic (but not shake it);\n    To gulp it dutifully down\n    (But leave the bitter dregs alone).\n    Desire not aught of any man\n    (But take your due); so that you can\n    (Quite safely unto others do\n    As you wish they should unto you);\n    And thus\u2019\u2014so summed the portly Priest\u2014\n    \u2018Be chosen for the Wedding Feast\n    (As City Councillor at least).\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_Puck and the Crocodile_\n\n_Dedicated to the Godly_\n\n\n    Puck, wandering on the banks of Nile,\n    Beheld one day a Crocodile,\n    That with heart-wringing sighs and sobs,\n    With groans and cries and throes and throbs,\n    Made moan, until his rushing tears\n    Ran down the wrinkles of the sand.\n    \u2018What ails thee, Monster?\u2019 made demand\n    The Sprite, \u2018and why these million tears?\u2019\n    \u2018I weep, I shriek,\u2019 the other cries,\n    \u2018To see the World\u2019s iniquities.\u2019\n    \u2018And I with you,\u2019 the Elf replies.\n    \u2018The World,\u2019 resumed the Crocodile,\n    \u2018Is full of Cruelty and Guile.\u2019\n    \u2018Except for you,\u2019 Puck said, \u2018it\u2019s vile.\u2019\n    \u2018Honour and Chivalry are dead;\n    The Soul of Pity vanished.\u2019\n    \u2018Save in yourself, Sir,\u2019 Robin said.\n    \u2018How are the Righteous much abhor\u2019d,\n    And silent still the Godly Word!\u2019\n    \u2018Not while you live,\u2019 the Sprite aver\u2019d.\n    \u2018My friend, I thank you,\u2019 said the Beast;\n    \u2018I think you sympathise at least.\n    The world is evil\u2014pray beware\u2014\n    How fat you are, I do declare!\n    God grant us all some day remission\u2014\n    I vow you\u2019re in a fine condition.\n    I think that all\u2014I must say that\n    For a fairy you are very fat.\n    What unctuous food\u2014excuse me, friend\u2014\n    You fays must find in fairy land.\n    As I was saying, all is not\u2014\n    Fie, what a toothache I have got!\n    See here, this molar. Pray look nearer,\n    And you shall see the bad place clearer.\n    Nay if you could but just creep in\n    And say which tooth the mischief\u2019s in\u2014\u2019\n    \u2018No thank you, friend,\u2019 our Puck replied;\n    \u2018I\u2019ll keep upon the outer side.\n    With many large soul\u2019d folk I\u2019ve met\n    I\u2019ve found the stomach\u2019s larger yet;\n    And when the Righteous talk of Sin\n    Look to your pockets or your skin.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_The Virtuous Goat_\n\n_Dedicated to Teachers_\n\n\n    Upon a mountain lived of old\n    (So says the Saga that is wise)\n    An ancient Goat of portly size,\n    Well known for virtues manifold,\n    Who once to take the evening air\n    Reposed upon a meadow there,\n    With Wife and Children in a row;\n    And thus endeavour\u2019d to bestow\n    On them (and all of us) advice\n    To make our conduct more precise\n    And lead at last to paradise.\n    \u2018My dears be Good. All else forgot\n    Yours shall be still a happy lot.\n    Enough the Rule. Do not enquire\n    The How and Why of things\u2014or higher.\n    Be Virtuous, and neglect the Schools;\n    For Wisdom was but made for fools.\n    Scorn still the shallow Mind that pries\n    In science, art, philosophies;\n    Essays the future to forecast,\n    Forsooth, by study of the past;\n    Maintains the laws should be (what treason!)\n    Compounded by the use of reason;\n    And will advise e\u2019en men of note\n    To govern well by thinking o\u2019t;\n    Avers when honest people chatter\n    That he knows best who knows the matter;\n    And even go so far as state\n    Goats can by thinking mend their fate.\n    So hold this saw before your eyes,\n    Be Good and let who will be wise.\u2019\n\n    Alas, with his own virtue blind,\n    He fail\u2019d to mark the Wolf behind;\n    Who, as he seized and bore him off,\n    Distress\u2019d him with this bitter scoff\u2014\n    \u2018With your high views I sympathise;\n    But better also to be Wise.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_The truth of Truth_\n\n\n    Within a vast and gloomy Fane\n    There hung a Curtain to the floor,\n    Which fill\u2019d with terror those who came\n    To wonder there or to adore;\n\n    For, as the Priest had often said,\n    Within the chamber dwelt in sooth\n    A breathing Horror, half divine,\n    Half demon, and whose name was Truth.\n\n    And none there were so doughty bold\n    As durst to lift the tapestry;\n    For it was death, he said, to peer\n    Upon the awful Mystery;\n\n    Until one day\u2014oh dreadful hour\u2014\n    Up jump\u2019d a foolish hardy Youth,\n    Who cried, \u2018I care not if I die,\n    But I will have the truth of Truth.\u2019\n\n    There came a Crowd to see the deed\u2014\n    To hear him shriek within and fall;\n    But they were much astonish\u2019d when\n    He found\u2014why Nothing there at all;\n\n    Except indeed upon the floor\n    (Ill fortune take the prying sinner!)\n    A Pasty and a Pot of Beer\n    Which the poor Priest had got for dinner.\n\n\n\n\n_The Man, the Lion, and the Fly_\n\n_Dedicated to Reformers_\n\n\n    There was a Man to wisdom dead\n    Who took a mad thought in his head\u2014\n    \u2018A second Hercles I,\u2019 he said.\n    \u2018Behold,\u2019 he cried, \u2018I will go forth\n    From east to west, from south to north,\n    And with this knotted bludgeon bash\n    The Things that Sting, and those that Gnash\n    Blood-dripping teeth, and Giants glum\n    So mighty that with finger and thumb\n    They pick and eat chance passengers.\n    And I will slay each thing that stirs\n    To grief of man and dole of beast,\n    Until the world from wrong released\n    Pronounce me Emperor at least.\u2019\n\n    But as he spoke, upon the way\n    A casual Lion chanced to stray,\n    Just as on any other day;\n    And he, to measure of his thought\n    In ready deed inferior nought,\n    Sprang at him furious, and they fought.\n\n    Three hours they fought, until the sun\n    Ymounted in the vault begun\n    To make them wish that they had done.\n    \u2018Friend,\u2019 quoth the Lion, \u2018or why foe\n    Upon my word I do not know\u2014\n    If we fight more we melt, I trow.\u2019\n    \u2018A little grace,\u2019 the Man replied,\n    Wiping his brow, \u2018is not denied;\n    You\u2019ll have but little when you\u2019ve died.\u2019\n\n    So each beneath a tree disposed\n    Took ease. The languid Lion dozed.\n    The Man, who should have done likewise\n    (So says the Saga that is wise),\n    Was waked each time he sued repose\n    By a great Fly upon his nose.\n    First in the one ear then in t\u2019other\n    The winged monster buzz\u2019d with bother;\n    The twitching tender nostrils tried,\n    The corners of the lips beside;\n    From lip to eyelid leapt with fuss,\n    Like old dame in an omnibus;\n    Delighted vastly to have met\n    So great a store of unctuous sweat.\n    At last to desperation driven\n    The Man accursed the Fly to Heaven,\n    And with his bludgeon great assay\u2019d\n    To stay the small annoying raid.\n    Wielding to right and left he smote;\n    But still the nimble Fly, remote,\n    Laughed at his anger and enjoy\u2019d\n    Fresh perspiration.\n                      Thus annoy\u2019d,\n    His bludgeon broken on the tree,\n    A helpless, weary wight was he.\n    The Lion rose, refresh\u2019d, with glee;\n    \u2018I\u2019m ready now,\u2019 he said, \u2018my man,\n    To end the work the Fly began.\u2019\n    And this (the Chronicler explains)\n    Is why the Lion still remains.\n\n\n\n\n_Orpheus and the Busy Ones_\n\n_Dedicated to the Public_\n\n\n    Orpheus, the Stygian current cross\u2019d,\n    When Hell stood still to hear him sing,\n    Torn from Eurydice twice lost\n    (Almost by music saved e\u2019er lost)\n    Over the world went wandering.\n    One day, sate on a mountain slope,\n    Weary and sick for want of hope,\n    (Or rather, shall we term it, dead,\n    Since life is gone when hope is sped),\n    He twang\u2019d his lyre; till song sublime\n    Out of the ashes of his prime\n    And fire of grief like Phoenix sprang;\n    And all the startled hillside rang.\n    Aroused, the dew-engrossed Flowers\n    Turn\u2019d to him all their maiden eyes;\n    And from the sweet forgotten bowers\n    Flew forth a thousand Butterflies.\n    The Trees forgot their roots. Beneath,\n    The noisy Crickets of the heath\n    Rub\u2019d each his forehead with amaze\n    To hear one sing such heavenly lays.\n    Under her stone the lumpy Toad\n    Peer\u2019d forth; even the solid sod\n    Grew peopled with emerging Worms\u2014\n    Such power hath Music on all forms.\n    Above, the pinched Pard amort\n    (She had three cublings in a den)\n    Forgot her hunger, and in short\n    Reposed herself to listen then,\n    Upon her furry paws her chin;\n    And from her vantage watch\u2019d the Poet,\n    Delighted, but enraged to know it,\n    While all her spotted sleek of skin\n    Heaved with the pleasure she took in.\n    Not only this, but shall I say \u2019t,\n    The very Hills began debate\n    Whether, to hear the singing clearer,\n    They should not move a little nearer.\n\n    Only, the Bard, to these strange ways\n    Accustom\u2019d, noted with amaze\n    A herd of Hogs that near him fed,\n    Which might for all he sang be dead.\n    He ceased his song and tried the scale\n    To find out where his voice might fail;\n    His lyre divine descanted soon\n    To see the strings were all in tune;\n    Till satisfied that these were right,\n    And at those Hogs astonish\u2019d quite\n    That they not to his conquering lyre,\n    Which all things else did so admire,\n    Gave heed, but routed in the rye\n    As tho\u2019 he had not been close by,\n    He ask\u2019d of them the reason why.\n    \u2018Good friend,\u2019 a Bacon old replied,\n    \u2018We have too much to do beside;\n    The roots are many, the field is wide.\n    Should we neglect this plenteousness\n    We should be wrong, you must confess\u2014\n    The gods some day might give us less.\n    Our girth is great; the fodder free;\n    This field of food must finished be.\n    That time is short you\u2019ll not deny.\n    We eat but little ere we die.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_The Poet and the Penman_\n\n\n    All night had browsed the Pinion\u2019d Steed\n    Upon that lush and level mead\n    That swathes Parnassos\u2019 feet;\n    Till, when the pranksome Morning Star\n    To van of Day\u2019s slow-driven car\n    Came piping past the eastern bar,\n    A Poet him did greet.\n\n    \u2018Your back, my Pegasos,\u2019 he cried,\n    \u2018Shall win me to the tiers espied\n    Of yonder shelfed hill,\n    Where all the Great are, I opine,\n    And on the last proud peak divine\n    Apollo and the Earnest Nine\n    At songs symphonic still.\u2019\n\n    Tomes had the Poet, rolls and wraps,\n    Pens at his ears, and scribbled scraps,\n    And so essay\u2019d the mounting\u2014\n    \u2018Stand still, O Steed, and I will climb,\n    Tho\u2019 weighted here with pounds of rhyme,\n    If you will only give me time,\n    Who\u2019d been on stirrups counting.\u2019\n\n    The Steed stood still; the thing was done;\n    He slided, slip\u2019d and shuffled on,\n    And stay\u2019d to pen his deeds:\n    When now the Monster\u2019s patience wears;\n    He lowers his head, his haunches rears;\n    And flying past the Stallion\u2019s ears\n    The Poet measures weeds.\n\n    Three times attempting, three times foil\u2019d,\n    The Bard beheld his breeches soil\u2019d;\n    And on his knees the mashed green\n    Gave an arch proof of what had been;\n    And winds like gamboling babes unseen\n    Made all his errant sheets revolve.\n    For now the Morning \u2019gan to solve\n    The long-strewn sands of heav\u2019nly cloud;\n    And that fair Mountain noble brow\u2019d,\n    In snowy silv\u2019ry laces dight\n    Shone like a bride, against the night\n    Unveil\u2019d, with many-pointed light.\n    And lo half seen thro\u2019 level mist\n    A Critic rode with saucy wrist,\n    Plump, smug and smooth and portly, dress\u2019d\n    In corduroys and velvet vest;\n    Who clip\u2019d at ease an ambling cob\n    With dappled nose and ears alob;\n    While all around a barking brood\n    Of puppies nuzzled in the rood.\n    \u2018He who to climb has climbing blood\n    Must fear no fall in marish mud;\n    And he who phantoms fain would ride\n    May sometimes sit the ground,\u2019 he cried.\n\n    At this his thighs the Poet slam\u2019d\n    And papers in his pocket ram\u2019d;\n    \u2018Be off,\u2019 he said, \u2018or else be damn\u2019d.\u2019\n    \u2018You lose your time,\u2019 resumed the Man,\n    Whose oozing eyes with mirth o\u2019erran;\n    \u2018You waste your time about that Brute\n    Whom, if \u2019twere mine, egad I\u2019d shoot,\n    So gaunt and gall\u2019d a hack is he.\n    But take example now from me,\n    Who riding in this airy plight\n    For breakfast get an appetite;\n    And sitting here (I am so sly)\n    With this my pocket-sextant I\n    Take altitude of those on high.\u2019\n    \u2018Pedant avaunt!\u2019 the Poet cries,\n    And mounting shoots towards the skies\n    An angry palm\u2014\u2018Come not anear!\n    I, as toward the marineer\n    The welcome star from beacon\u2019d brows\n    Of headland, when the Northern blows\n    His scurrilous spitting spray in air\n    And lobbing billows blotch the Bear,\n    Appears, so shall appear and shine\n    Thro\u2019 streaming rain and hissing brine\n    To cheer the coming better blood;\n    And shall be fire when thou art mud!\u2019\n\n    \u2018Blind is the goose that play\u2019d the geier\n    And tried to see the white sun nigher!\u2014\n    He flapping lies; so shall you lie\n    And grovel as you think to fly!\u2019\n    The other cries; whose Nag amazed,\n    Viewing the winged Stallion, gazed,\n    Shook out her tail and with a snort,\n    Approaching in plebeian sort,\n    Paw\u2019d archly at him. He with scorn\n    And having too long mildly borne,\n    Rear\u2019d, spread his wings, and buck\u2019d and neigh\u2019d.\n    She with the monstrous tone affray\u2019d\n    Shot forth her rider like a ball;\n    Who in the mid-air, ere his fall,\n    The like-projected Poet met.\n\n    As when two Suns in furious set\n    Together dash with whirl and wind,\n    Their shrieking planets drawn behind;\n    Or two great Blacks with blinding rage,\n    Each dragging his black wife, engage,\n    And clash their pates upon the green\n    (The fleas being heard to crack between),\n    The Critic so and Bard pell mell\n    Fighting concuss\u2019d and fighting fell;\n    And puppies tug\u2019d their tatters.\n    Bruises for breakfast got the one;\n    Black eyes the other, and of Fame none.\n    They fought it out, and when they\u2019d done\n    Went home as rough as ratters.\n\n\n\n\n_The Piteous Ewe_\n\n_Dedicated to Kings_\n\n\n    King Lion yawning at his gates\n    On deep-empiled mosses, when\n    The sunset gilt the underwood,\n    Awaking claw\u2019d in idle mood\n    The frighten\u2019d dead leaves of his den,\n    Content; when lo (the Rune relates)\n    A tiny piercing note was heard.\n    It was the Mouse (the Rune aver\u2019d)\n    Who saved the Sov\u2019reign\u2019s honour when\n    The hunters mesh\u2019d him in the glen.\n    For that admitted now to cheep\n    Before the Audience half asleep,\n    She introduced a weeping Sheep.\n\n    \u2018Sire,\u2019 said the Mouse, \u2018with much ado\n    Thro\u2019 wicked guards I bring to you\n    This much wrong\u2019d creature to implore\n    Justice against the evil doer.\u2019\n    At this, no rhetorician,\n    The shiv\u2019ring Mutton then began\n    Of how three lovely Lambkins lost\n    The Wolf had taken to his den,\n    Deep-delved in a dreadful glen\u2014\n    And ah! to her the bitter cost!\n    One from her side when day was dead\n    The monster stole. Another took\n    At gambol in the glassing brook.\n    The third, the Mother\u2019s last delight,\n    When now the many-lamped Night\n    No more, with mystic moon aloft,\n    Gave shudd\u2019ring shadows to the flowers\n    And stars of wan irradiance soft\n    To every dewdrop; but the hours\n    Of Dawn and Daybreak, Sister Hours,\n    Twin Lovelinesses, lit the world,\n    And the confident buds unfurl\u2019d,\n    He seized with mangling tushes, till\n    The innocent flower-eyes of the wood,\n    That wont with early dew to fill,\n    Grew piteous-wet with tears of blood;\n    The mother helpless. So he rush\u2019d\n    With shaggy flanks, and snarling gnash\u2019d\n    The gripping teeth that gleam\u2019d between\n    His cruel red lips scarcely seen,\n    While springing branches clash\u2019d behind,\n    And left her weeping to the wind.\n\n    \u2018Ho!\u2019 roar\u2019d the Monarch, \u2018call the Court!\n    With this black ruffian I\u2019ll be short.\n    How often have I giv\u2019n command\n    The young shall not be taken\u2019\u2014and\n    His thunder rang across the land,\n    Until the forest flowers for fear\n    Shut up their petals not to hear.\n\n    Then his gay Herald, the Macaw,\n    Screams out the hest from hill to haugh,\n    And from a thousand delled dens\n    Run forth his frighten\u2019d denizens,\n    To share the Council, or to know\n    What makes the Monarch bellow so.\n    And, as they gather, to and fro\n    He paces, and his red eyes flash\n    Enough to turn them all to ash.\n    Arranged before him in a row\n    They take their places, high and low.\n    The Wicked Wolf between his guards,\n    Two grave and stalwart Leopards,\n    Stands tip-toe, snarling, and repeating\n    It was not he who did the eating;\n    And, with his tail between his legs,\n    For justice, justice only, begs.\n    \u2018You or another,\u2019 roar\u2019d the King,\n    \u2018I\u2019ll find the one who did the thing\u2014\n    But first, Sir Premier, please reply\n    (A Constitutional Monarch I)\n    Why do you let my people die?\u2019\n    At this, with deference, said the Bear,\n    \u2019Twas not his fault\u2014he was not there.\n    Still lab\u2019ring in affairs of state\n    To make the kingdom good and great\n    (Altho\u2019 the wicked Opposition\n    Did ever thwart him in his mission),\n    A sleepless eye he always cast\n    Upon the future and the past\n    To frustrate\u2014hard for anyone\u2014\n    What the Last Government had done.\n    At present he\u2019d in contemplation\n    Some mighty measures for the nation\u2014\n    To bring the Butterflies to terms\n    By giving franchise to the Worms;\n    To teach the Gnats to carry logs;\n    To give self-government to Hogs\n    Because they had resolved to shirk,\n    With noble Scorn, ignoble Work;\n    To succour Wildcats, and to keep\n    The Wolves secure against the Sheep.\n    And here he thought he smelt a plot:\n    This trivial matter, was it not\n    A little juggle to discredit\n    This last great measure?\u2014There, he\u2019d said it.\n    But still his heart bled at the woe\n    Occasion\u2019d by his Party\u2019s foe.\n\n    At this the Tiger shriek\u2019d with rage\n    (The while his Secret\u2019ry the Fox,\n    Took papers from his office box),\n    \u2018Unhappy land! accursed age!\u2019\n    He cried, \u2018You seek to murder me\n    With weight of brute Majority;\n    And me not only, but the cause\n    Of Pity, Justice, and the Laws!\n    Take back the charges you impute;\n    It is not me but you who do\u2019t.\n    When we controll\u2019d the Sov\u2019reign\u2019s land\n    The sun was bright, the breeze was bland.\n    The roving Heifer, free from care,\n    Scarce needed sniff th\u2019 untainted air\n    For danger, and the young Gazelle\n    Drank heedless at the hidden well;\n    And even I with happy smile\n    Would lay me down to slumber, while\n    The careless Lambkins gambol\u2019d round,\n    And Peace and Plenty blest the ground!\n\n    With this fine eloquence inflamed\n    The rival factions loudly named\n    Each other Brute, and (it is said)\n    Would soon have killed each other dead:\n    But now the Boar with growl and grunt\n    And bristling juba leapt to front.\n    \u2018Accursed both!\u2019 he cried. \u2018What, what!\n    Think you, ye fools, we know you not?\n    Each canting, lying partisan,\n    Who prates of Mercy and the Law\n    With merciless and murd\u2019rous maw,\n    Will always eat us when he can\u2014\n    Us, who with boon and bloodless toil\n    Seek but the acorns for our spoil\u2014\n    Were not our eyes and tushes bright\n    To quell such bandits of the night.\n    Why, e\u2019en the Monarch\u2014\u2019\n                        Here a roar\n    From all the Council check\u2019d the Boar;\n    And soon the King with pensive mien\n    Said, \u2018This is not the way, I ween\n    To reach the truth\u2014more difficult\n    Than we supposed. Let us consult\n    Our learned Judge, Lord Elephant.\u2019\n\n    So he advances, complaisant\n    With rocky brow, and at his ear\n    A pen as long as any spear;\n    Small eyes that saw behind the Truth\n    Convenience; and, as if to soothe\n    Dissention, with a swaying motion\n    From side to side. \u2018Sire, I\u2019ve a notion,\u2019\n    He said, \u2018there is no case at all.\n    The plaintiff can no witness call,\n    And hers the only evidence,\n    Which, rightly sifted, has no sense.\n    For in the night she says he took\n    Her first, her second in the brook.\n    How could she see him in the dark?\n    And for the second, pray you mark,\n    Perhaps it was more likely drown\u2019d.\n    As for the third, when she look\u2019d round,\n    He\u2019d gone: how did she know him then?\n    This is of fancy, not of ken.\n    Moreover, in th\u2019 alternative,\n    Sir Wolf can plead he could not live\n    Because the din the lambkins made\n    About him slumb\u2019ring in the shade.\n    As for the much-bereaved Dame,\n    With whom I deeply sympathise\u2014\n    Such sorrow wets my foolish eyes\u2014\n    I fear she may be thought to blame\n    Because she troubled Majesty\n    Before she had instructed me\n    (Of course I ridicule the fee);\n    And I should be prepared, in short,\n    To hear it argued in the Court\n    Whether she did not bring the charge\n    In order merely to discharge\n    An ancient grudge against her foe\u2014\u2019\n    \u2018Enough! and let the prisoner go!\u2019\n    The Sov\u2019reign said. \u2018And as for you,\n    Dishonest and malignant Ewe,\n    We do not order you to death\n    (Whate\u2019er your conduct meriteth)\n    Only because it pleaseth us\n    To show we are magnanimous.\u2019\n    (He was indeed much praised for that,\n    And more because the Sheep was fat).\n    \u2018Break up the Court. Enough of worry,\n    It\u2019s time to dine, so let\u2019s be merry.\u2019\n\n    With that they shifted in a hurry;\n    But in the scramble no one knew\n    (So says the Saga that is true)\n    What happen\u2019d to the Piteous Ewe.\n\n\n\n\n_The Contest of Birds_\n\n_Dedicated to all the Excellent_\n\n\n    The Eagle which at Jove\u2019s right hand\n    Was wont to take imperial stand,\n    Proud of his perch, and with fond beak\n    The Thund\u2019rer\u2019s fondling finger tweak,\n    Or blinking in sage thought t\u2019 assume\n    Half sov\u2019reignty and weigh the doom,\n    Was sick; for the World he sigh\u2019d,\n    His Mountains and his Forests wide;\n    So true it is, not Jove\u2019s right hand\n    Is worth to us our Native Land,\n    And that the Little we have not\n    Can make the Much we have forgot.\n\n    Therefore to earth with arching vans,\n    Released a while, the sky he spans\n    In flight; sinks thro\u2019 the tempest; takes\n    The feather-fretting aid of wind;\n    And now, new born with pleasure, breaks\n    Upon a beauteous Vale confined.\n\n    Now it is said that on that day\n    All Birds that are had ceased their play,\n    And question\u2019d, each with heat and brawl,\n    Which was the noblest of them all:\n    Who when they saw the Eagle stand\n    Amidst them (now unused to stand\n    Upon the dull, flat, level earth)\n    Burst into loud contemptuous mirth.\n    \u2018It seems,\u2019 exclaimed a civil Crow,\n    \u2018You come here, friend, quite apropos.\n    For we discuss\u2019d the noblest here,\n    And you are truly the most queer.\n    Your wings and tail, excuse me friend,\n    Seem too long for your other end.\n    Pray change your\u2014if I may suggest\u2014\n    Your tailor and be better dress\u2019d.\n    Look at myself how neat I go,\n    And in the latest fashion too.\u2019\n    \u2018Or were your plumes, my friend, more bright\n    We could excuse your homely plight,\u2019\n    The Peacock said: \u2018pray just admire\n    My plumes of azure, gold and fire.\n    My dames about me ever move\n    In wonder, and confess their love.\n    Whene\u2019er I show myself,\u2019 said he,\n    \u2018The Gods look down from Heaven to see.\u2019\n    \u2018Base virtues of the body!\u2019 cried\n    The Parrot. \u2018Is the soul denied?\n    Know friend that beauteous words are worth\n    More than these qualities of earth.\n    How wise I am admire, and know\n    It is by study I am so.\n    Still lost in contemplation I\n    Quite understand the earth and sky;\n    Can talk of wonders without end,\n    More e\u2019en than I can comprehend;\n    Or say the wisest words, I ween,\n    Although I don\u2019t know what they mean.\u2019\n    \u2018Pshaw!\u2019 said the Vulture, \u2018fair or wise,\n    You shall some day become my prize.\n    Your merits shall be mine, \u2019od shake \u2019em,\n    Whenever I may choose to take \u2019em;\n    And when I have digested you\n    Your virtues shall become mine too.\n    As for our friend the new arrival,\n    If he contend to be my rival,\n    Let\u2019s fight it out in heaven\u2019s name!\u2019\n    \u2018What base arbitrement! for shame!\u2019\n    Exclaimed the mincing Nightingale.\n    \u2018If he aspire let him prevail\n    Against me in the test of song\n    Where he who triumphs is most strong.\u2019\n    \u2018Beware of pride,\u2019 the Dodo said;\n    \u2018I see that all of you are led\n    Astray by arrogance. For me,\n    I glory in humility.\n    I am so humble I confess\n    My utter wicked worthlessness.\n    I say with tears\u2019\u2014and here he blows\n    The part that should have been his nose\u2014\n    \u2018I say with tears I dote upon\n    Being beaten, bruised and trampled on.\n    I love to be reminded still\n    Of all my faults and treated ill.\n    So \u2019tis, I think, confess\u2019d by all\n    My virtue\u2019s not equivocal.\u2019\n    \u2018To me,\u2019 the lofty Stork aver\u2019d,\n    \u2018This seems a most plebeian bird.\n    With nails so long and legs so short,\n    He cannot be of noble sort;\n    Tho\u2019 in his nose, I must confess,\n    I see some sign of gentleness.\n    I cannot really stoop so far\n    (Whom all the Frogs and Mice in war\n    Already have confess\u2019d their king)\n    As rival this uncrowned thing.\n    My subjects would at once repine\n    Nor let me eat \u2019em, I opine,\n    As all contented subjects should,\n    Did I disgrace my royal blood.\u2019\n\n    Which heard, the fiery Eagle\u2019s eyes\n    With noble anger and surprise\n    Flash\u2019d out. \u2018Still dear what is most cheap\n    Ye little woodland creatures keep,\u2019\n    He cried; and flung aloft his head,\n    Gazed up to heaven, his pinions spread\n    (The wind of which made timorous stir\n    Among the things that round him were)\n    And leaping on the air begun\n    Ascent, and vanish\u2019d in the sun.\n\n\n\n\n_Alastor_\n\n\n    \u2019Tis said that a noble Youth of old\n    Was to his native village lost\n    And to his home and aged sire;\n    For he had wander\u2019d (it is told)\n    Where, pinnacled in eternal Frost,\n    Apollo leads his awful Choir.\n\n    Awful, for nought of human warms\n    The agony of Their Song sublime,\n    Which like the breath of Ice is given,\n    Ascending in vapour from all forms,\n    Where Gods in clear alternate chime\n    Reveal Their mystery-thoughts to Heaven.\n\n    Nor in those regions of windless Cold\n    Is fiery the Sun tho\u2019 fierce in light;\n    But frozen-pale the numbed Moon\n    Wanders along the ridges that fold\n    Enormous Peaks, what time the Night\n    Rivals with all her stars the Noon.\n\n    For there, not dimly as here, the Stars,\n    But globed and azure and crimson tinct,\n    Climb up the windless wastes of Snow,\n    Gold-footed, or thro\u2019 the long-drawn bars\n    Of mountain Mist with eyes unblink\u2019d\n    And scorn, gaze down on the world below;\n\n    Or high on the topmost Peak and end\n    Of ranges stand with sudden blaze,\n    Like Angels born in spontaneous birth;\n    Or wrap themselves in flame and descend\n    Between black foreheads of Rock in haze,\n    Slowly like grieved gods to earth.\n\n    And there for ever the patient Wind\n    Rakes up the crystals of dry Snow,\n    And mourns for ever her work undone;\n    And there for ever, like Titans blind\n    Their countenance lifting to Heaven\u2019s glow,\n    The sightless Mountains yearn for the Sun.\n\n    There nightly the numbed Eagle quells\n    (Full-feathered to his feet of horn)\n    His swooning eye, his eyrie won,\n    And slumbers, frozen by frosty spells\n    Fast to the pinnacle; but at Morn\n    Unfettered, leaps toward the Sun.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    He heard, he saw. Not to the air\n    Dared breathe a breath; but with his sight\n    Wreak\u2019d on Immortals mortal wrong,\n    And dared to see them as they were\u2014\n    The black Peaks blacken\u2019d in Their light,\n    The white Stars flashing with Their song.\n\n    So fled. But when revealing Morn\n    Show\u2019d him descended, Giant grown,\n    Men ant-like, petty, mean and weak,\n    He rush\u2019d returning. Then in scorn\n    Th\u2019 Immortals smote him to a Stone\n    That aches for ever on the Peak.\n\n\n\n\n_Ocean and the Rock_\n\n\n    _The Rock._  Cease, O rude and raging Sea,\n                Thus to waste thy war on me.\n                Hast thou not enough assail\u2019d\n                All these ages, Fool, and fail\u2019d?\n\n    _The Ocean._  Gaunt and ghastly Skeleton,\n                Remnant of a time that\u2019s gone,\n                Tott\u2019ring in thy last decay\n                Durst thou still to darken day?\n\n    _The Rock._  Empty Brawler brawl no more;\n                Cease to waste thy watery war\n                On my bastion\u2019d Bases broad,\n                Sanctified by Time and God.\n\n    _The Ocean._  Thou that be\u00ebst but to be,\n                Scornest thou my Energy?\n                Not much longer lasts the strife.\n                I am Labour, I am Life.\n\n    _The Rock._  Roar then, roar, and vent thy Surge;\n                Thou not now shalt drone my dirge.\n                Dost imagine to dismay\n                This my iron breast with Spray?\n\n    _The Ocean._  Relic of primaeval slime,\n                I shall whelm thee in my time.\n                Changeless thou dost ever die;\n                Changing but immortal, I.\n\n\n\n\n_Death and Love_\n\n\n    Death, pacing between a ghastly Moon\n    Dying low down on the western Hills\n    And the Star, bright usher of the Morn,\n    The clear Dawn cryophor,\n\n    Trod frosty footprints in the dew\n    Upon a ridge; and beholding there\n    A lovely Lady lain below\n    His tingling Arrow sped\u2014\n\n    A Barb with a burning icicle tip\u2019d,\n    Torn from the frore beard of the Northern Star\n    That stares on the shuddering pyramids\n    Of crumbling Arctic ice.\n\n    With his Arrow he smote her and cried,\n        \u2018Come not here!\n    Not here will I bear thee. This is My world\u2014\n    The world of Death where Beauty dies,\n    And I, I Death am god.\u2019\n\n    She sobbing arose, and sobbing sank;\n    And would have perish\u2019d, but Love that way\n    Fell like a flame, and supported her\n    And warm\u2019d her dying hands;\n\n    And said to him, \u2018Fool, the touch of thy barb\n    Is poison that I can poison with Love;\n    For as thou art Death unto all the world,\n    Even so am I Death to thee.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_Calypso to Ulysses_\n\n\n      \u2019 \u2019\u2019\u2019 \u2019\u2019\u2019 \u2019\u2019\u2019\n      \u2019 \u2019\u2019\u2019 \u2019\u2019\u2019 \u2019\u2019\n\n    Go, go from me sorrowful Wanderer\u2014\n    Go, go from me, tho\u2019 no Man dearer\n    Than thou art. The Stars will revisit me,\n    And Thou not forget me O Ocean.\n\n    Alone here, alone in my Solitude\n    I\u2019ll sit by the Ocean for ever,\n    And mourn for the Hero so lost to me\u2014\n    So loved by me, Lost, and no omen.\n\n    Monotonous Waters shall sing to me;\n    Shall sigh to me, sing of my Hero.\n    Immortal like me is my Misery,\n    And when will my Sorrow grow older.\n\n    Immortal like me is my Love for thee;\n    But mortal like thee, alas, thine is.\n    I have no enchantment to quicken thee,\n    Nor thou to console me with Death.\n\n\n\n\n_The Star and the Sun_\n\n\n    In Darkness and pacing the thunder-beat Shore\n    By many Waves,\n    No sound being near to me there but the hoarse\n    Cicala\u2019s cry,\n    While that unseen Sword, the Zodiacal Light,\n    Falchion of Dawn,\n    Made clear all the Orient and wanner the Silvery Stars,\n\n    I heard the fine flute of the Fast Fading Fire,\n    The Morning Star,\n    Pipe thus to the Glimmering Glories of Night,\n    And sing, \u2018O World,\n    If I even leave thee then Who can remain?\u2019\n    But from the Deep\n    The Thundering Sun upsprang, and replied, \u2018Even I.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n_The Poet\u2019s Retirement_\n\n\n    Down from that blithe Idalian Hill\n    Where Violets drink of dew their fill,\n    And wading thro\u2019 wet eastern Flowers\n    With wash\u2019d feet Eos and the Hours\n    Come laughing down, I laughing came.\n\n    The Morn had now her threads of flame\n    Inlaid to Earth\u2019s green tapestries,\n    Gold-inwoven; and to their knees\n    In chilly baths of thridding rills\n    At tremble stood luce Daffodils;\n    When lo I mark\u2019d toward me move\n    Those Maidens Three whom poets love.\n    \u2018O whither away, rash Youth,\u2019 they cried,\n    \u2018Singing thro\u2019 daffodils dost thou stride?\u2019\n    \u2018Ladies, I wander for a while\u2019\u2014\n    And here I duck\u2019d and doff\u2019d in style\u2014\n    \u2018I wander by Bourn, I wander by Byre,\n    By Cape and Cote and Castle Spire,\n    And sometime stick in puddled Mire;\n    Or where the shrieking moon-drawn Tides\n    Drench dripping jags on Mountain sides;\n    Or twanging strings sound gay reprieve\n    To smoky Villages at eve,\n    The while toward their wattled home\n    The baaing Sheep do go, I roam,\n    And when the paddock\u2019d Ass careers\n    Mirthful, with high prick\u2019d tail and ears.\n    And I have left behind me there\n    My Hippocrate teaching the air;\n    And Learning prim; and Venus too\n    Now whipping Cupid with her shoe.\u2019\n    Then, of those slipper\u2019d Maidens, She\n    Robed in flush rose red answer\u2019d me,\n    Who brightly gazing with mild look\n    Held still a finger-parted book.\n    \u2018Come then,\u2019 she cried, \u2018with me and dwell\n    In my Valley of Asphodel,\n    Which is a land of laughing rills\n    And hung about with dazzling hills,\n    Where oft the Swain with garter\u2019d legs\n    Piping for love in music begs\n    Nor Thisbe turns her petulant ear.\n    There large-eyed Plato thou may\u2019st here\n    Persuade, or, if not idly awed,\n    Masters a Master\u2019s theme applaud.\n    Or if the Thunder more invite\n    Than silver-threaded rain\u2019s delight\n    And sloping seats of knolled moss,\n    Come where some thwarted Torrent toss\n    Thro\u2019 his black gorges, mad to break\n    The shining levels of the Lake.\n    Or, if engross\u2019d with human Fate,\n    On ranged boards mark Love and Hate\n    Egg on to midnight-living crime,\n    And glaring Horrors of dead time\n    Creep in behind. Or, restive still,\n    Unlock\u2019d from Hell soar Heaven\u2019s hill\n    Thro\u2019 sun-outstaring Cherubim.\u2019\n\n    \u2018Not so,\u2019 cried one, a Virgin slim,\n    Plumed, wrap\u2019d and robed in such gold-green\n    As thro\u2019 woods sunset-dazed is seen,\n    Who half upon her dinted breast\n    Apollo sculpt in little press\u2019d.\n    \u2018Come to my House of all delights,\n    Whose marble Stairs with merged flights\n    Are shallow\u2019d in the viewless Lake;\n    Whose overpeering Turrets take\n    The peep of Dawn, or flashing turn\n    To Eve departing golden scorn.\n    There fairy-fluted pillars soar\n    To cloudy Roofs of limned lore,\n    And Walls are window\u2019d with rare scapes\n    And rich designs: of blazon\u2019d Capes\n    Pawing the sunset-burnish\u2019d flood;\n    Of rib-railed reaches of Solitude;\n    Of rounded World and globed Skies,\n    And Stars between, and faint Moonrise;\n    Of black Tarns set mid mountain peaks\n    And spouting silver-foamed leaks;\n    Of Gods reclined, and Maids who move,\n    Unlidding lustrous eyes of love;\n    Of War; of Wisdom with a skull.\n    And in the high aisles Fountains full\n    Disperse a stream of coolness there\n    For frosted fern and maidenhair,\n    And sculptured beauty hold the way.\n    So thither go with me to-day.\u2019\n\n    Then She who all in purple dight,\n    Brow-starr\u2019d with orbed ruby light,\n    Lifted from under rich deep locks\n    Looks wrapt on Heaven, to earthly shocks\n    Descending, thus replied: \u2018Not these\n    Flat hapless lands of Towers and Trees\n    May past the morn your spirit please.\n    But to some cold Crag, doffing drifts,\n    His cleared brow that Heavenward lifts,\n    And turns beneath the mistless Stars,\n    Come. There no dew distilled mars\n    The many hued Sidereal blaze,\n    And mooned Venus in white rage\n    Stares down the Dawn. Come; for that Glow\n    There solves to unpolluted flow\n    The crumbling crystals of the Snow;\n    And windworn Cataracts wavering plunge\n    To lightless pine-valleys. Come, O come!\n    Lest those faint Harmonies be unheard\n    Which, as from silver and gold strings stir\u2019d\n    By the light fingers of the Wind,\n    Run from the poised orbs swiftly spin\u2019d.\u2019\n    She ceased, and with her finger tip\n    Made sound the lyre upon her hip,\n    And would have sung; but I replied,\n    \u2018To be unchosen is descried;\n    And we shall be made mad in Heaven\n    By need of choice of good things given.\n    I love all Three so passing well\n    Which I love best I cannot tell.\n    Alas!\u2019\u2014I cried, but checked the word,\n    For close behind a footstep heard\n    Compel\u2019d me turn; when lo that Maid,\n    Dress\u2019d in black velvet, who bewray\u2019d\n    Plump Popes and Pastors once to fear,\n    Came up and took me by the ear.\n    \u2018Is this the way,\u2019 she cried, \u2018you waste\n    Time should be spent in huddling haste\n    To harry Ignorance to her den,\n    Or pink fat Folly with the pen?\n    Small unobserved things to use,\n    Each with its little mite of news,\n    To build that sheer hypothesis\n    Whose base on righteous Reason is,\n    Whose point among the Stars. For shame!\n    Enough the seeming-serious game.\n    But search the Depths; and for thy meed,\n    A place among the men indeed.\u2019\n\n\n\n\n                              PRINTED BY\n                     C. TINLING AND CO., LIMITED,\n                     53 VICTORIA STREET, LIVERPOOL","title":"Fables","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":7342}