[Footnote 4:  The ancient city in Macedonia, the birthplace of Alexander the Great.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 5:  A famous Low Church divine, a favourite with Queen Caroline, distinguished as a man of science and a scholar.  He became Rector of St. James’, Piccadilly, but his sermons and his theological writings were not considered quite orthodox.  See note in Carruthers’ edition of Pope, “Moral Essays,” Epist. iv.—­W.  E. B.]

THE PHEASANT AND THE LARK
A FABLE BY DR. DELANY
1730

—­quis iniquae Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se?—­_-Juv._ i, 30.

In ancient times, as bards indite,
(If clerks have conn’d the records right.)
A peacock reign’d, whose glorious sway
His subjects with delight obey: 
His tail was beauteous to behold,
Replete with goodly eyes and gold;
Fair emblem of that monarch’s guise,
Whose train at once is rich and wise;
And princely ruled he many regions,
And statesmen wise, and valiant legions. 
  A pheasant lord,[1] above the rest,
With every grace and talent blest,
Was sent to sway, with all his skill,
The sceptre of a neighbouring hill.[2]
No science was to him unknown,
For all the arts were all his own: 
In all the living learned read,
Though more delighted with the dead: 
For birds, if ancient tales say true,
Had then their Popes and Homers too;
Could read and write in prose and verse,
And speak like ***, and build like Pearce.[3]
He knew their voices, and their wings,
Who smoothest soars, who sweetest sings;
Who toils with ill-fledged pens to climb,
And who attain’d the true sublime. 
Their merits he could well descry,
He had so exquisite an eye;
And when that fail’d to show them clear,
He had as exquisite an ear;
It chanced as on a day he stray’d
Beneath an academic shade,
He liked, amidst a thousand throats,
The wildness of a Woodlark’s[4] notes,
And search’d, and spied, and seized his game,
And took him home, and made him tame;
Found him on trial true and able,
So cheer’d and fed him at his table. 
  Here some shrewd critic finds I’m caught,
And cries out, “Better fed than taught”—­Then
jests on game and tame, and reads,
And jests, and so my tale proceeds. 
  Long had he studied in the wood,
Conversing with the wise and good: 
His soul with harmony inspired,
With love of truth and virtue fired: 
His brethren’s good and Maker’s praise
Were all the study of his lays;
Were all his study in retreat,
And now employ’d him with the great. 
His friendship was the sure resort
Of all the wretched at the court;
But chiefly merit in distress
His greatest blessing was to bless.—­
  This fix’d him in his patron’s breast,
But fired with envy all the rest: 
I mean that noisy, craving crew,
Who round the court incessant flew,
And prey’d like rooks, by pairs and dozens,