* * * * *

FABLE XXVIII.

THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.

  Is there a bard whom genius fires,
  Whose every thought the god inspires? 
  When Envy reads the nervous lines,
  She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines;
  Her hissing snakes with venom swell;
  She calls her venal train from hell: 
  The servile fiends her nod obey,
  And all Curl’s[4] authors are in pay,
  Fame calls up calumny and spite. 
  Thus shadow owes its birth to light.
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     As prostrate to the god of day,
  With heart devout, a Persian lay,
  His invocation thus begun: 
     ’Parent of light, all-seeing Sun,
  Prolific beam, whose rays dispense
  The various gifts of providence,
  Accept our praise, our daily prayer,
  Smile on our fields, and bless the year.’ 
     A cloud, who mocked his grateful tongue,
  The day with sudden darkness hung;
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  With pride and envy swelled, aloud
  A voice thus thundered from the cloud: 
     ’Weak is this gaudy god of thine,
  Whom I at will forbid to shine. 
  Shall I nor vows, nor incense know? 
  Where praise is due, the praise bestow.’ 
     With fervent zeal the Persian moved,
  Thus the proud calumny reproved: 
     ’It was that god, who claims my prayer,
  Who gave thee birth, and raised thee there;
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  When o’er his beams the veil is thrown,
  Thy substance is but plainer shown. 
  A passing gale, a puff of wind
  Dispels thy thickest troops combined.’ 
     The gale arose; the vapour toss’d
  (The sport of winds) in air was lost;
  The glorious orb the day refines. 
  Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines.

* * * * *

FABLE XXIX.

THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.

  A fox, in life’s extreme decay,
  Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay;
  All appetite had left his maw,
  And age disarmed his mumbling jaw. 
  His numerous race around him stand
  To learn their dying sire’s command: 
  He raised his head with whining moan,
  And thus was heard the feeble tone: 
     ’Ah, sons! from evil ways depart: 
  My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
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     See, see, the murdered geese appear! 
  Why are those bleeding turkeys here? 
  Why all around this cackling train,
  Who haunt my ears for chicken slain? 
     The hungry foxes round them stared,
  And for the promised feast prepared. 
     ’Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer? 
  Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here. 
  These are the phantoms of your brain,
  And your sons lick their lips in vain.’
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     ‘O gluttons!’ says the drooping sire,
  ’Restrain inordinate desire. 
  Your liqu’rish taste you shall deplore,