Philosopher And Pheasant.

A sage awakened by the dawn,             By music of the groves was drawn             From tree to tree: responsive notes             Arose from many warbling throats.             As he advanced, the warblers ceased;             Silent the bird and scared the beast -             The nightingale then ceased her lay,             And the scared leveret ran away.             The sage then pondered, and his eye             Roamed round to learn the reason why.             He marked a pheasant, as she stood             Upon a bank, above her brood;             With pride maternal beat her breast             As she harangued and led from nest:             "Play on, my infant brood - this glen             Is free from bad marauding men.             O trust the hawk, and trust the kite,             Sooner than man - detested wight!             Ingratitude sticks to his mind, -             A vice inherent to the kind.             The sheep, that clothes him with her wool,             Dies at the shambles - butcher's school;             The honey-bees with waxen combs             Are slain by hives and hecatombs;             And the sagacious goose, who gives             The plume whereby he writes and lives,             And as a guerdon for its use             He cuts the quill and eats the goose.             Avoid the monster: where he roams             He desolates our raided homes;             And where such acts and deeds are boasted,             I hear we pheasants all are roasted."