Is there a bard whom genius fires, Whose every thought the god inspires? When Envy reads the nervous lines, She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines; Her hissing snakes with venom swell; She calls her venal train from hell: The servile fiends her nod obey, And all Curl's[4] authors are in pay, Fame calls up calumny and spite. Thus shadow owes its birth to light. _10 As prostrate to the god of day, With heart devout, a Persian lay, His invocation thus begun: 'Parent of light, all-seeing Sun, Prolific beam, whose rays dispense The various gifts of providence, Accept our praise, our daily prayer, Smile on our fields, and bless the year.' A cloud, who mocked his grateful tongue, The day with sudden darkness hung; _20 With pride and envy swelled, aloud A voice thus thundered from the cloud: 'Weak is this gaudy god of thine, Whom I at will forbid to shine. Shall I nor vows, nor incense know? Where praise is due, the praise bestow.' With fervent zeal the Persian moved, Thus the proud calumny reproved: 'It was that god, who claims my prayer, Who gave thee birth, and raised thee there; _30 When o'er his beams the veil is thrown, Thy substance is but plainer shown. A passing gale, a puff of wind Dispels thy thickest troops combined.' The gale arose; the vapour toss'd (The sport of winds) in air was lost; The glorious orb the day refines. Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines. * * * * * FABLE XXIX. THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.