"Shall I," says he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler passed you by--
How strong are those; how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence;
Excuse me, then; you know my heart,
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament! Adieu!
For see, the Hounds are just in view."

JOHN GAY

The Nightingale and the Glowworm

A Nightingale, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor had at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the Glowworm by his spark;
So stepping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The Worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent:
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For, 'twas the self-same Power Divine
Taught you to sing and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."
The Songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation.
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
Hence, jarring sectaries may learn
Their real interest to discern,
That brother should not war with brother,
And worry and devour each other;
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Until life's poor transient night is spent.
Respecting in each other's case.
The gifts of Nature and of Grace.

Those Christians best deserve the name
Who studiously make peace their aim;
Peace both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.

WILLIAM COWPER

The Raven

A Raven, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly pressed,
And on her wickerwork high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted,
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same).
Enjoyed at ease the genial day;
'Twas April, as the bumpkins say;
The legislature called it May.
But suddenly a wind, as high
As ever swept a winter sky,
Shook the young leaves about her ears
And filled her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hop