pride, and check’d his will;
In vain the master’s forming care,
Restrain’d with threats, or sooth’d with pray’r;
Of freedom proud, and scorning man,
Wide o’er the spacious plains he ran.
Where’er luxuriant NATURE spread
Her flow’ry carpet o’er the mead,
Or bubbling streams, soft gliding, pass
To cool and freshen up the grass;
Disdaining bounds, he cropp’d the blade,
And wanton’d in the spoil he made.

In plenty thus the summer pass’d,
Revolving winter came at last;
The trees no more a shelter yield;
The verdure withers from the field;
Perpetual snows invest the ground,
In icy chains the streams are bound,
Cold nipping winds, and rattling hail,
His lank, unshelter’d sides assail.

As round he cast his rueful eyes,
He saw the thatch-roof’d cottage rise;
The prospect touch’d his heart with cheer,
And promis’d kind deliv’rance near.
A stable, erst his scorn and hate,
Was now become his wish’d retreat;
His passion cool, his pride forgot,
A FARMER’S welcome yard he sought.

The master saw his woeful plight,
His limbs, that totter’d with his weight,
And friendly to the stable led,
And saw him litter’d, dress’d, and fed.
In slothful ease all night he lay;
The servants rose at break of day;
The market calls.—Along the road
His back must bear the pond’rous load;
In vain he struggles, or complains—
Incessant blows reward his pains.
To-morrow varies but his toil;
Chain’d to the plough he breaks the soil:
While scanty meals at night repay
The painful labours of the day.

Subdu’d by toil, with anguish rent,
His self-upbraidings found a vent.
Wretch that I am! he sighing said,
By arrogance and folly led;
Had but my restive youth been brought
To learn the lesson NATURE taught,
Then had I, like my sires of yore,
The prize from ev’ry courser bore;
While man bestow’d rewards and praise,
And females crown’d my latter days.
Now lasting servitude’s my lot,
My birth contemn’d, my speed forgot;
Doom’d am I, for my pride, to bear
A living death from year to year.

FABLE XIII.

THE OWL AND THE NIGHTINGALE.