THE YOUNG COCKS

     Two Tanagraean cocks a fight began;
     Their spirit is, ’tis said, as that of man: 
     Of these the beaten bird, a mass of blows,
     For shame into a corner creeping goes;
     The other to the housetop quickly flew,
     And there in triumph flapped his wings and crew. 
     But him an eagle lifted from the roof,
     And bore away.  His fellow gained a proof
     That oft the wages of defeat are best,—­
     None else remained the hens to interest.

     WHEREFORE, O man, beware of boastfulness: 
     Should fortune lift thee, others to depress,
     Many are saved by lack of her caress.

     THE ARAB AND THE CAMEL

     An Arab, having heaped his camel’s back,
     Asked if he chose to take the upward track
     Or downward; and the beast had sense to say
     “Am I cut off then from the level way?”

     THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE SWALLOW

     Far from men’s fields the swallow forth had flown,
     When she espied amid the woodlands lone
     The nightingale, sweet songstress.  Her lament
     Was Itys to his doom untimely sent. 
     Each knew the other through the mournful strain,
     Flew to embrace, and in sweet talk remain. 
     Then said the swallow, “Dearest, liv’st thou still? 
     Ne’er have I seen thee, since thy Thracian ill. 
     Some cruel fate hath ever come between;
     Our virgin lives till now apart have been. 
     Come to the fields; revisit homes of men;
     Come dwell with me, a comrade dear, again,
     Where thou shalt charm the swains, no savage brood: 
     Dwell near men’s haunts, and quit the open wood: 
     One roof, one chamber, sure, can house the two,
     Or dost prefer the nightly frozen dew,
     And day-god’s heat? a wild-wood life and drear? 
     Come, clever songstress, to the light more near.” 
     To whom the sweet-voiced nightingale replied:—­
     “Still on these lonesome ridges let me bide;
     Nor seek to part me from the mountain glen:—­
     I shun, since Athens, man, and haunts of men;
     To mix with them, their dwelling-place to view,
     Stirs up old grief, and opens woes anew.”

     Some consolation for an evil lot
     Lies in wise words, in song, in crowds forgot. 
     But sore the pang, when, where you once were great,
     Again men see you, housed in mean estate.

     THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE STORK

     Thin nets a farmer o’er his furrows spread,
     And caught the cranes that on his tillage fed;
     And him a limping stork began to pray,
     Who fell with them into the farmer’s way:—­
     “I am no crane:  I don’t consume the grain: 
     That I’m a stork is from my color plain;
     A stork, than which no better bird doth live;
     I to my father aid and