A lamp; but whether round or square,
Or made of glass or earthenware,
Is more than I can tell.
7.
But there it hung, in pious proof
Of Catholicity, before
The Virgin's shrine—a thing aloof,
Just ninety feet below the roof,
And nine above the floor.
8
The owl, who felt at such a sight
His appetite for oil arise,
Swoop'd boldly towards it: but the light,
Alack! was too intensely bright,
And scorch'd his lidless eyes.
9.
So reeling backwards in despair,
He mutter'd, as he left the shrine,
"Oh! but for this terrific glare,
How gloriously would I fare
Upon that oil of thine!
10.
"But trust me, lamp, though now I flee,
If ever I should chance to find
Thy flame extinct—with fearless glee
I'll glut my thirsty beak in thee,
Nor leave a drop behind."
11.
And such are critics. But if they
Should feel dissatisfied with this,
Perhaps another fable may
Present their likeness in a way,
That none can take amiss.
12.
One day a ragman with his stick
Was poking in the kennel, when
A dog that pass'd began to prick
His ears—for dogs delight to pick
A quarrel with such men.
13
And rushing headlong to the fray,
With bark and bite attack'd the man;
The frighten'd vagrant flung away
His stick, or, as himself would say,
He cut his stick, and ran.
14.
The dog pursued him as he fled;
And "what a wretch is this," he cried,
Who holds a living dog in dread,
Yet, when he meets with one that's dead,
Will strip it of its hide!"
XV. THE FROG AND THE FROGLING.
From their dwelling in a bog,
Cried a frogling to a frog:
"Mother, see, on yonder banks
How the canes, in even ranks,
Lift their leafy heads on high
Till they seem to touch the sky.
Tell me, have you ever seen
Any trees so tall and green—
Any that in stalk or stem
Would deserve to vie with them?"
But the words had scarcely past,
When an unexpected blast
Rush'd, and with a mighty blow
Struck the grove and laid it low.
Then, retorting from the bog,
To the frogling cried the frog:
"Look, my child—a child may gain
Wisdom even from a cane—
Look, and learn no more to prize
Objects for their gloss and size.
For each trunk that seem'd to thee
Massy as a forest tree,
Is as empty, frail, and thin,
As the vilest reed, within."
Many bardlings in a strain
Just as fugitive and vain—
Never terse and never strong,
But inordinately long,
And, despite of much pretence,
Quite without the sap of sense—
Flourish for a day, and then
Vanish from the eyes of men.
