Owl And Farmer.

An owl took, in a barn, a station             As fittest for deep contemplation;             There (like a Turk) upon a beam             He sat, as Turks sit in hareem.             So smokers, at the Magpie met,             Peruse the 'Post-boy' or 'Gazette;'             And thence foretell, in wise and sure hope,             The future destinies of Europe.             The farmer comes to see his sheaves.             The owl his silent soul relieves;             "Reason in man is sheer pretence,             Would he - were he endowed with sense -             Treat owls with scorning? He can praise             The birds that twitter on the sprays:             Linnets, and larks, and nightingales,             Yet in the nobler owl he fails.             Should I, by daylight, view my reign,             Those birds would cluster in my train;             Why do they pounce upon the wing,             Save that they see and own their king?"             "Pshaw!" said the farmer: "lump of pride!             They only follow to deride;             Your scream affrights the evening hour,             When nightingales enchant the bower.             Why all on earth - man, beast, and fowl -             Know you for what you are - an owl.             You and your train! 'midst Nature's rules,             Fools in derision follow fools!"