A Fable

Yes, yes, I grant the sons of EarthAre doom'd to trouble from their birth.We all of sorrow have our share;But say, is yours without compare?Look round the world; perhaps you'll findEach individual of our kindPress'd with an equal load of ill,Equal at least: look further still,And own your lamentable caseIs little short of happiness.In yonder hut that stands aloneAttend to Famine's feeble moan;Or view the couch where Sickness lies,Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes;His frame by strong convulsion torn,His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn.Or see, transfixt with keener pangs,Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs;Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares,Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares;Despair, Remorse, and Terror rollTheir tempests on his harass'd soul.But here perhaps it may availTo enforce our reasoning with a tale.Mild was the morn, the sky serene,The jolly hunting band convene,The beagle's breast with ardour burns,The bounding steed the champaign spurns,And Fancy oft the game descriesThrough the hound's nose and huntsman's eyes,Just then a council of the haresHad met on national affairs.The chiefs were set; while o'er their headThe furze its frizzled covering spread.Long lists of grievances were heard,And general discontent appear'd."Our harmless race shall every savageBoth quadruped and biped ravage?Shall horses, hounds, and hunters stillUnite their wits to work us ill?The youth, his parent's sole delight,Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite,Whose pulse in every vein beats strong,Whose limbs leap light the vales along,May yet ere noontide meet his death,And lie dismember'd on the heath.For youth, alas! nor cautious age,Nor strength, nor speed eludes their rage.In every field we meet the foe,Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe;The morning but awakes our fears,The evening sees us bathed in tears.But must we ever idly grieve,Nor strive our fortunes to relieve?Small is each individual's force;To stratagem be our recourse;And then, from all our tribes combined,The murderer to his cost may findNo foes are weak whom Justice arms,Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms.Be roused; or liberty acquire,Or in the great attempt expire."He said no more, for in his breastConflicting thoughts the voice suppress'd:The fire of vengeance seem'd to streamFrom his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam.And now the tumults of the war,Mingling confusedly from afar,Swell in the wind. Now louder criesDistinct of hounds and men arise.Forth from the brake, with beating heart,The assembled hares tumultuous start,And, every straining nerve on wing,Away precipitately spring.The hunting band, a signal given,Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven;O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound,And river broad, impetuous bound;Now plunge amid the forest shades,Glance through the openings of the glades;Now o'er the level valley sweep,Now with short step strain up the steep;While backward from the hunter's eyesThe landscape like a torrent flies.At last an ancient wood they gain'd,By pruner's axe yet unprofaned.High o'er the rest, by nature rear'd,The oak's majestic boughs appear'd;Beneath, a copse of various hueIn barbarous luxuriance grew.No knife had curb'd the rambling sprays,No hand had wove the implicit maze.The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind,The hazel's stubborn stem entwined,And bramble twigs were wreathed around,And rough furze crept along the ground.Here sheltering from the sons of murther,The hares their tired limbs drag no further.But, lo! the western wind ere longWas loud, and roar'd the woods among;From rustling leaves and crashing boughsThe sound of woe and war arose.The hares distracted scour the grove,As terror and amazement drove;But danger, wheresoe'er they fled,Still seem'd impending o'er their head.Now crowded in a grotto's gloom,All hope extinct, they wait their doom.Dire was the silence, till, at length,Even from despair deriving strength,With bloody eye and furious look,A daring youth arose and spoke:"O wretched race, the scorn of Fate,Whom ills of every sort await!O cursed with keenest sense to feelThe sharpest sting of every ill!Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme,Of liberty and vengeance dream,What now remains? To what recessShall we our weary steps address,Since Fate is evermore pursuingAll ways, and means to work our ruin?Are we alone, of all beneath,Condemn'd to misery worse than death?Must we, with fruitless labour, striveIn misery worse than death to live?No. Be the smaller ill our choice;So dictates Nature's powerful voice.Death's pang will in a moment cease;And then, all hail, eternal peace!"Thus while he spoke, his words impartThe dire resolve to every heart.A distant lake in prospect lay,That, glittering in the solar ray,Gleam'd through the dusky trees, and shotA trembling light along the grot.Thither with one consent they bend,Their sorrows with their lives to end;While each, in thought, already hearsThe water hissing in his ears.Fast by the margin of the lake,Conceal'd within a thorny brake,A linnet sat, whose careless layAmused the solitary day.Careless he sung, for on his breastSorrow no lasting trace impress'd;When suddenly he heard a soundOf swift feet traversing the ground.Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies,Thence trembling casts around his eyes;No foe appear'd, his fears were vain;Pleased he renews the sprightly strain.The hares whose noise had caused his fright,Saw with surprise the linnet's flight."Is there on earth a wretch," they said,"Whom our approach can strike with dread?"An instantaneous change of thoughtTo tumult every bosom wrought.So fares the system-building sage,Who, plodding on from youth to age,At last on some foundation dreamHas rear'd aloft his goodly scheme,And proved his predecessors fools,And bound all nature by his rules;So fares he in that dreadful hour,When injured Truth exerts her power,Some new phenomenon to raise,Which, bursting on his frighted gaze,From its proud summit to the groundProves the whole edifice unsound."Children," thus spoke a hare sedate,Who oft had known the extremes of fate,"In slight events the docile mindMay hints of good instruction find,That our condition is the worst,And we with such misfortunes curst,As all comparison defy,Was late the universal cry;When, lo! an accident so slightAs yonder little linnet's flight,Has made your stubborn hearts confess(So your amazement bids me guess)That all our load of woes and fearsIs but a part of what he bears.Where can he rest secure from harms,Whom even a helpless hare alarms?Yet he repines not at his lot;When past, the danger is forgot:On yonder bough he trims his wings,And with unusual rapture sings:While we, less wretched, sink beneathOur lighter ills, and rush to death.No more of this unmeaning rage,But hear, my friends, the words of age:"When, by the winds of autumn driven,The scatter'd clouds fly 'cross the heaven,Oft have we, from some mountain's head,Beheld the alternate light and shadeSweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowersThe shadowy cloud; there downward pours,Streaming direct, a flood of day,Which from the view flies swift away;It flies, while other shades advance,And other streaks of sunshine glance.Thus chequer'd is the life belowWith gleams of joy and clouds of woe.Then hope not, while we journey on,Still to be basking in the sun;Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn,That sunshine will no more return.If, by your terrors overcome,Ye fly before the approaching gloom,The rapid clouds your flight pursue,And darkness still o'ercasts your view.Who longs to reach the radiant plainMust onward urge his course amain:For doubly swift the shadow flies,When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies.At least be firm, and undismay'dMaintain your ground! the fleeting shadeEre long spontaneous glides away,And gives you back the enlivening ray.Lo, while I speak, our danger past!No more the shrill horn's angry blastHowls in our ear: the savage roarOf war and murder is no more.Then snatch the moment fate allows,Nor think of past or future woes."He spoke; and hope revives; the lakeThat instant one and all forsake,In sweet amusement to employThe present sprightly hour of joy.Now from the western mountain's brow,Compass'd with clouds of various glow,The sun a broader orb displays,And shoots aslope his ruddy rays.The lawn assumes a fresher green,And dew-drops spangle all the scene.The balmy zephyr breathes along,The shepherd sings his tender song,With all their lays the groves resound,And falling waters murmur round:Discord and care were put to flight,And all was peace and calm delight.