Thither with one consent they bend, Their sorrows with their lives to end; While each, in thought, already hears The water hissing in his ears, Fast by the margin of the lake, Concealed within a thorny brake, A linnet sate, whose careless lay Amused the solitary day. Careless he sung, for on his breast Sorrow no lasting trace impressed; When suddenly he heard a sound Of swift feet traversing the ground. Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies, Thence, trembling, casts around his eyes; No foe appeared, 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 thought To tumult every bosom wrought. So fares the system-building sage, Who, plodding on from youth to age, At last, on some foundation-dream, Has reared 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 ground, Proves the whole edifice unsound. "Children," thus spake a hare sedate, Who oft had known the extremes of Fate, "In slight events the attentive mind "May hints of good instruction find. "That our condition is the worst, "And we with such misfortunes cursed "As all comparison defy, "Was late the universal cry. "When, lo! an accident so slight, "As yonder little linnet's flight, "Has made your stubborn hearts confess "(So your amazement bids me guess) "That all our load of woes and fears "Is 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, his dangers are forgot: "On yonder bough he trims his wings, "And with unusual rapture sings; "While we, less wretched, sink beneath "Our lighter ills, and rush to death. "No more of this unmeaning rage, "But hear, my friends, the word of age: "When, by the winds of autumn driven, "The scattered clouds fly cross the heaven, "Oft have we, from some mountain's head, "Beheld the alternate light and shade "Sweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowers "The 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 chequered is the life below "With 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,