A father's only heir, a son, Was over-loved, and doted on So greatly, that astrology Was question'd what his fate might be. The man of stars this caution gave-- That, until twenty years of age, No lion, even in a cage, The boy should see,--his life to save. The sire, to silence every fear About a life so very dear, Forbade that any one should let His son beyond his threshold get. Within his palace walls, the boy Might all that heart could wish enjoy-- Might with his mates walk, leap, and run, And frolic in the wildest fun. When come of age to love the chase, That exercise was oft depicted To him as one that brought disgrace, To which but blackguards were addicted. But neither warning nor derision Could change his ardent disposition. The youth, fierce, restless, full of blood, Was prompted by the boiling flood To love the dangers of the wood. The more opposed, the stronger grew His mad desire. The cause he knew, For which he was so closely pent; And as, where'er he went, In that magnificent abode, Both tapestry and canvas show'd The feats he did so much admire, A painted lion roused his ire. 'Ah, monster!' cried he, in his rage, 'Tis you that keep me in my cage.' With that, he clinch'd his fist, To strike the harmless beast-- And did his hand impale Upon a hidden nail! And thus this cherish'd head, For which the healing art But vainly did its part, Was hurried to the dead, By caution blindly meant To shun that sad event. The poet Aeschylus, 'tis said, By much the same precaution bled. A conjuror foretold A house would crush him in its fall;-- Forth sallied he, though old, From town and roof-protected hall, And took his lodgings, wet or dry, Abroad, beneath the open sky. An eagle, bearing through the air A tortoise for her household fare, Which first she wish'd to break, The creature dropp'd, by sad mistake, Plump on the poet's forehead bare, As if it were a naked rock-- To Aeschylus a fatal shock!