Politely asked him what the phrase meant;
And, being told, discharged a volley
Of laughter at the pedant's folly.
Surprised and vex'd at this rebuff,
The parrot answer'd, in a huff:
"Thou art a Purist,[1] I suspect,
And I despise thy sober sect."
The monkey, bowing to the bird,
Replied, "I thank thee for the word:
Though parrots may despise the same,
It is an honourable name."
Too many authors intersperse,
Affectedly, their prose or verse
With Gallicisms, that defile
Their native purity of style,
And, like the parrot, labour thus
To be, at best, ridiculous.
VII.—THE CATHEDRAL BELL AND THE HERMITAGE BELL.
1.
Within an old cathedral hung
A mighty bell,
Which never, save at Easter, swung
One solemn knell;
And then so sternly all around
Its echoes fell,
The peasants trembled at the sound
Of that big bell,
2.
Not far from the cathedral stood
A hermit's cell,
And in its belfry-tower of wood
A little bell;
Whose daily tinklings through the year
So faintly fell,
The peasants hardly gave an ear
To that small bell.
3.
The hermit—he who own'd the same,
And loved it well,
Resolved that it should share the fame
Of the big bell;
So tolling it but once a year,
With one brief knell,
He taught the peasants to revere
His little bell.
4.
And there are fools in vast repute,
Who, strange to tell,
Acquire their fame by being mute,
Like that small bell;
These would-be sages rarely speak,
For they know well
That frequent utterance would break
The solemn spell.
VIII. THE MUSICAL ASS.
The fable which I now present,
Occurr'd to me by accident.
A stupid ass this morning went
Into a field by accident,
And cropp'd his food and was content,
Until he spied by accident
A flute, which some oblivious gent
Had left behind by accident;
When, sniffing it with eager scent,
He breathed on it by accident,
And made the hollow instrument
Emit a sound by accident.
"Hurrah, hurrah," exclaim'd the brute,
"How cleverly I play the flute!"
A fool, in spite of nature's bent,
May shine for once by accident.
IX. THE SWAN AND THE LINNET.
1.
As once a linnet on a tree
Was piping like a lover's lute,
A swan exclaim'd, "All birds should be,
When I am, nigh, entranced and mute;
For none can hope to vie with me,
A vocalist of such repute!
2.
"It heeds me not, but warbles still—
Was ever songster half so vain?
The creature, with its tiresome trill,
May thank its stars that I disdain
To open my melodious bill,
And pour an overpowering strain.
3.
"For if, as poets truly tell,
My very death-notes are divine,
My voice, of course, when I am well,
Is still more exquisitely fine,
And I could readily excel
That simple song by one of mine."
- ↑ A term employed by modern corrupters of our language, when they affect to ridicule those who speak it with purity—Yriarte.
