Just now, predicting an awful fate For some wretched bird; and I foresee Falcons and snares awaiting thee. What more can you want than what you've got-- A friend, a good dwelling, and wholesome cot?" The other, by these pleadings shaken, Almost had his whim forsaken; But still, by restless ardour swayed, Soon, in soothing tones, he said-- "Weep not, brother, I'll not stay But for three short days away; And then, quite satisfied, returning, Impart to you my travelled learning. Who stays at home has nought to say; But I will have such things to tell,-- 'Twas there I went,'--'It thus befel,'-- That you will think that you have been In every action, every scene." Thus having said, he bade adieu, And forth on eager pinion flew; But ere a dozen miles were past, The skies with clouds grew overcast; All drenched with rain, the Pigeon sought A tree, whose shelter was but nought; And when, at length, the rain was o'er, His draggled wings could scarcely soar. Soon after this, a field espying, Whereon some grains of corn were lying, He saw another Pigeon there, And straight resolved to have his share. So down he flies, and finds, too late, The treacherous corn is only there To tempt poor birds to hapless fate. As the net was torn and old, however, With beak, and claw, and fluttering wing, And by despairs supreme endeavour, He quickly broke string after string; And, with the loss of half his plumes, Joyous, his flight once more resumes. But cruel fate had yet in store A sadder evil than before; For, as our Pigeon slowly flew, And bits of net behind him drew, Like felon, just from prison 'scaped, A hawk his course towards him shaped. And now the Pigeon's life were ended, But that, just then, with wings extended, An eagle on the hawk descended. Leaving the thieves to fight it out, With beak and talon, helter-skelter, The Pigeon 'neath a wall takes shelter; And now believes, without a doubt, That for the present time released, The series of his woes has ceased. But, lo! a cruel boy of ten (That age knows not compassion's name), Whirling his sling, with deadly aim, Half kills the hapless bird, who then, With splintered wing, half dead, and lame, His zeal for travel deeply cursing, Goes home to seek his brother's nursing. By hook or by crook he hobbled along, And arrived at home without further wrong. Then, united once more, and safe from blows, The brothers forgot their recent woes.