A FABLE.

THE OWL AND THE SPARROW.

A FABLE.*

1772.

IN elder days, in Saturn's prime,
Ere baldness seized the head of Time,
While truant Jove, in infant pride,

Play'd barefoot on Olympus' side,

Each thing on earth had power to chatter,
And spoke the mother tongue of nature.
Each stock or stone could prate and gabble,
Worse than ten labourers of Babel.
Along the street, perhaps you'd see
A Post disputing with a Tree,
And mid their arguments of weight,
A Goose sit umpire of debate.

Each Dog you met, though speechless now,
Would make his compliments and bow,

*In the course of a poetical correspondence with a friend, having received a very humorous letter in ridicule of Love, &c. I sent him this fable in return.

And every Swine with congees come,
To know how did all friends at home.
Each Block sublime could make a speech,
In style and eloquence as rich,

And could pronounce it and could pen it,
As well as Chatham in the senate.

Nor prose alone. In these young times,
Each field was fruitful too in rhymes;
Each feather'd minstrel felt the passion,
And
every wind breathed inspiration.

Each Bullfrog croak'd in loud bombastic,
Each Monkey chatter'd Hudibrastic;
Each Cur, endued with yelping nature,
Could outbark Churchill's* self in satire ;
Each Crow in prophecy delighted,

Each Owl, you saw, was second-sighted,

Each Goose a skilful politician,

Each Ass a gifted met'physician,

Could preach in wrath 'gainst laughing rogues,
Write Halfway-covenant Dialogues,†

* Churchill, the English satirist.

† Alluding to the titles of several violent controversial productions of that day, concerning the terms of admission to church-fellowship.

And wisely judge of all disputes

In commonwealths of men or brutes.

'Twas then, in spring a youthful Sparrow
Felt the keen force of Cupid's arrow :
For Birds, as Æsop's tales avow,
Made love then, just as men do now,
And talk'd of deaths and flames and darts,
And breaking necks and losing hearts;
And chose from all th' aerial kind,

Not then to tribes, like Jews, confined.
The story tells, a lovely Thrush

Had smit him from a neigh'bring bush,
Where oft the young coquette would play,
And carol sweet her siren lay:

She thrill'd each feather'd heart with love,
And reign'd the Toast of all the grove.
He felt the pain, but did not dare
Disclose his passion to the fair;
For much he fear'd her conscious pride
Of race, to noble blood allied.

Her grandsire's nest conspicuous stood,
Mid loftiest branches of the wood,
In airy height, that scorn'd to know
Each flitting wing that waved below.
So doubting, on a point so nice
He deem'd it best to take advice.