The Oak one day address'd the Reed: "To you ungenerous indeed Has nature been, my humble friend, With weakness aye obliged to bend. The smallest bird that flits in air Is quite too much for you to bear; The slightest wind that wreathes the lake Your ever-trembling head doth shake. The while, my towering form Dares with the mountain top The solar blaze to stop, And wrestle with the storm. What seems to you the blast of death, To me is but a zephyr's breath. Beneath my branches had you grown, Less suffering would your life have known, Unhappily you oftenest show In open air your slender form, Along the marshes wet and low, That fringe the kingdom of the storm. To you, declare I must, Dame Nature seems unjust." Then modestly replied the Reed: "Your pity, sir, is kind indeed, But wholly needless for my sake. The wildest wind that ever blew Is safe to me compared with you. I bend, indeed, but never break. Thus far, I own, the hurricane Has beat your sturdy back in vain; But wait the end." Just at the word, The tempest's hollow voice was heard. The North sent forth her fiercest child, Dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild. The Oak, erect, endured the blow; The Reed bow'd gracefully and low. But, gathering up its strength once more, In greater fury than before, The savage blast o'erthrew, at last, That proud, old, sky-encircled head, Whose feet entwined the empire of the dead! The Bat and the Two Weasels A blundering Bat once stuck her head Into a wakeful Weasel's bed; Whereat the mistress of the house, A deadly foe of rats and mice, Was making ready in a trice To eat the stranger as a mouse. "What! do you dare," she said, "to creep in The very bed I sometimes sleep in, Now, after all the provocation I've suffered from your thievish nation? It's plain to see you are a mouse, That gnawing pest of every house, Your special aim to do the cheese ill. Ay, that you are, or I'm no Weasel." "I beg your pardon," said the Bat; "My kind is very far from that. What! I a mouse! Who told you such a lie? Why, ma'am, I am a bird; And, if you doubt my word, Just see the wings with which I fly. Long live the mice that cleave the sky!" These reasons had so fair a show, The Weasel let the creature go.