The Vale To You, To Me The Heights. - A Fable.

[Bk. III. vi., October, 1846.]     A lion camped beside a spring, where came the Bird         Of Jove to drink:     When, haply, sought two kings, without their courtier herd,         The moistened brink,     Beneath the palm - they always tempt pugnacious hands -         Both travel-sore;     But quickly, on the recognition, out flew brands         Straight to each core;     As dying breaths commingle, o'er them rose the call         Of Eagle shrill:     "Yon crownd couple, who supposed the world too small,         Now one grave fill!     Chiefs blinded by your rage! each bleachd sapless bone         Becomes a pipe     Through which siroccos whistle, trodden 'mong the stone         By quail and snipe.     Folly's liege-men, what boots such murd'rous raid,         And mortal feud?     I, Eagle, dwell as friend with Leo - none afraid -         In solitude:     At the same pool we bathe and quaff in placid mood.         Kings, he and I;     For I to him leave prairie, desert sands and wood,         And he to me the sky."     H.L.W.