The sculptor was a child; confess, His mind, like children's in distress, Tormented by this ceaseless sorrow, His doll might angry be to-morrow. The heart obeys its guide, the mind: And from this source there flows, we find, This Pagan error, which we see Widen to all infinity. We all embrace some favourite dream, And follow it down flood and stream. Pygmalion was in love, 'tis said, With Venus that himself had made. Each turns his dream into a truth, And tries to fancy it all sooth. Ice to the facts before his face, But burning falsehood to embrace. FABLE CLXXX. THE MOUSE METAMORPHOSED INTO A GIRL. A Mouse from the beak of an owl fell down, A Brahmin lifted it up, half dead: Tenderly nursed it, and tamed it, and fed. I could not have done such an act, I own; But every land has its own conceit: With a Mouse I'd rather not sit at meat. But Brahmins regard a flea as a friend, For they think that the soul of a king may descend To some beast, or insect, or dog, or mite,-- Pythagoras taught them this law erudite. Thus believing, the Brahmin a sorcerer prayed That the Mouse might resume some more elegant dress. The wise man consented, and, truth to confess, Performed his task well, for the Mouse became Maid,-- Ah! a Maid of fifteen--such an elegant creature, Of a form so genteel, of such exquisite feature, That if Paris had met her, that amorous boy Would have risked, to possess her, full many a Troy. Surprised at the sight of a being so fair, The Brahmin said, "Darling, you've but to declare Whom you'll have for a husband, for none will refuse Such a beautiful bride;--you have only to choose." Then the Maiden replied, "I confess that I long For a husband that's valiant, and noble, and strong." Then the Brahmin knelt down, and addressing the Sun, Cried, "Noblest of living things, you are the one!" But the Lord of the Daylight replied, "'Tis not true That I am so strong; for the Cloud you see yonder, Piled high with the rain, and the hail, and the thunder, Could hide me at once, if he chose, from your view." To the Cloud, then, appealing, the Brahmin declared That with him, Lord of Storms, his child's fate should be shared. "No, No!" said the dark Cloud; "it never can be, For at each breath of wind I am driven to flee. If you'd have for a son-in-law somebody strong, Your Maid to the North Wind should fairly belong." Disgusted with constant refusals like these, The Brahmin appealed to the wild, roving Breeze; And the Breeze was quite willing to wed the fair Maid, But a Mountain Top huge his love's pilgrimage stayed. The ball, at this game of "a lover to find," Now passed to the Hill, but he quickly declined; "For," said he, "with the Rat I'm not friends, and, I know,