The Peacock to great Juno came: "Goddess," he said, "they justly blame The song you've given to your bird: All nature thinks it most absurd, The while the Nightingale, a paltry thing, Is the chief glory of the spring: Her note so sweet, and deep, and strong." "I do thee, jealous bird, no wrong," Juno, in anger, cried: "Restrain thy foolish pride. Is it for you to envy other's song?-- You who around your neck art wearing Of rainbow silks a hundred different dyes?-- You, who can still display to mortal's eyes A plume that far outfaces A lapidary's jewel-cases? Is there a bird beneath the skies More fit to please and strike? No animal has every gift alike: We've given you each one his special dower; This one has beauty, and that other power. Falcons are swift; the Eagle's proud and bold; By Ravens sorrow is foretold; The Crow announces miseries to come; All are content if singing or if dumb. Cease, then, to murmur, lest, as punishment, The plumage from thy foolish back be rent." FABLE XXXV. THE BAT AND THE TWO WEASELS. A Bat one day into a Weasel's hole Went boldly; well, it was a special blunder. The Weasel, hating mice with heart and soul, Ran up to eat the stranger--where's the wonder? "How do you dare," he said, "to meet me here, When you and I are foes, and always were? Aint you a mouse?--lie not, and cast off fear; You are; or I'm no Weasel: have a care." "Now, pardon me," replied the Bat, "I'm really anything but that. What! I a mouse? the wicked tattlers lie. Thanks to the Maker of all human things, I am a bird--here are my wings: Long live the cleavers of the sky!" These arguments seemed good, and so The Weasel let the poor wretch go. But two days later, though it seems absurd, The simpleton into another hole intruded. This second Weasel hated every bird, And darted on the rash intruder. "There you mistake," the Bat exclaimed; "Look at me, ain[']t I rashly blamed? What makes a bird? its feathers?--yes. I am a mouse--long live the rats, And Jupiter take all the cats." So twice, by his supreme address, This Bat was saved--thanks to <i>finesse.</i> Many there are who, changing uniform, Have laughed at every danger and intrigue; The wise man cries, to 'scape the shifting storm, "Long live the King!" or, "Glory to the League!" FABLE XXXVI. THE BIRD WOUNDED BY AN ARROW.