A BOY a pigeon once possess'd, In gay and brilliant plumage dress'd; He loved it well, and in boyish sport Its food to take from his mouth he taught, And in his pigeon he took such pride, That his joy to others he needs must confide. An aged fox near the place chanc'd to dwell, Talkative, clever, and learned as well; The boy his society used to prize, Hearing with pleasure his wonders and lies. "My friend the fox my pigeon must see He ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he "Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair! His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!" "Let's see!"--The boy gave it.--"'Tis really not bad; And yet, it is far from complete, I must add. The feathers, for, instance, how short! 'Tis absurd!" So he set to work straightway to pluck the poor bird. The boy screamed.--"Thou must now stronger pinions supply, Or else 'twill be ugly, unable to fly."-- Soon 'twas stripp'd--oh, the villain!--and torn all to pieces. The boy was heart-broken,--and so my tale ceases. * * * * He who sees in the boy shadow'd forth his own case, Should be on his guard 'gainst the fox's whole race. 1776.* ----- THE WRANGLER. ONE day a shameless and impudent wight Went into a shop full of steel wares bright, Arranged with art upon ev'ry shelf. He fancied they were all meant for himself; And so, while the patient owner stood by, The shining goods needs must handle and try, And valued,--for how should a fool better know?-- The bad things high, and the good ones low, And all with an easy self-satisfied face; Then, having bought nothing, he left the place. The tradesman now felt sorely vex'd, So when the fellow went there next, A lock of steel made quite red hot. The other cried upon the spot: "Such wares as these, who'd ever buy? the steel is tarnish'd shamefully,"-- Then pull'd it, like a fool about, But soon set up a piteous shout. "Pray what's the matter?" the shopman spoke; The other scream'd: "Faith, a very cool joke!" 1815.* ----- THE YELPERS. OUR rides in all directions bend, For business or for pleasure, Yet yelpings on our steps attend, And barkings without measure. The dog that in our stable dwells, After our heels is striding, And all the while his noisy yells But show that we are riding. 1815.* ----- THE STORK'S VOCATION. THE stork who worms and frogs devours That in our ponds reside, Why should he dwell on high church-towers, With which he's not allied? Incessantly he chatters there, And gives our ears no rest; But neither old nor young can dare To drive him from his nest. I humbly ask it,--how can he Give of his title proof, Save by his happy tendency To soil the church's roof? ----- CELEBRITY. [A satire on his own Sorrows of Werther.]