Classic Poem

That vanity ('tis known a truth)
Too oft inflames the breast of youth
The gay, the prejudic'd must own
By reason's native light alone!
And pow'rful motives must assuage
Its fever in maturer age.
Hence flattery, like fermented liquor,
Intoxicates the brain the quicker.
— Perhaps the muse may now be able
To point instruction by a fable.
The royal eagle once 'tis said,
Had broke his wing and kept his bed;
And birds of ev'ry size and feather,
In consultation flock'd together: —
They judg'd, in duty it was right
To nurse him in this mournful plight —
And sure this dignity conferr'd
An honour on the meanest bird!
But who shou'd gain it? — that's the matter —
Tho' some cou'd sing, and some cou'd chatter —
A claim superior they must mention,
And each must shew a just pretension,
To chear their sov'reign thus deprest,
And animate his dismal nest.

No gentle songstress of the wood —
But first, the stately peacock stood!
A train so long — such beauteous dyes
Must surely, please the eagle's eyes!
'Twas great, 'twas charming to behold her,
But sure no eagle's nest cou'd hold her!
And when her scarecrow voice was heard,
A look of gen'ral scorn appear'd:
This short reply at once had she —
That birds cou'd hear as well as see.

The lively, hopping, chatt'ring jay,
Came boldly next, with more to say;
Her glossy plumes were fair and bright,
And folics were her heart's delight —
Yet wisdom might be weary soon
To see the tricks of a buffoon:
Her ways are mischief, none can doubt it,
And soher birds are best without it.
Swift to the spot, the parrot flew —
Her foreign tints were beauteous too,
She talked — with ev'n human sound,
And look'd with consequence profound: —
At first, delightful 'twou'd appear —
But repetition tires the ear,
And words where meaning cannot dwell
May spoil reflection, quite as well.

The owl — indeed his looks are wise,
But night's an awkward time to rise, —
If owls such modern hours will keep,
Eagles, perhaps, wou'd rather sleep.

Perplext was ev'ry living bird —
When lo! — a tuneful voice was heard!
So soft, so charming, so delicious —
It seem'd to ev'ry hope propitious!

Ah! such a voice, so sweet so clear,
Proclaims the nightingale is near!
Her modest look, her colour brown,
Excludes not honour, or renown.
Sweet messenger! she comes with pow'rs
To harmonize our lonely hours —
And sure her fascinating lay
May drive the eagle's cares away!
Whilst all the conscious wood around.
Re-echoes, with th' enchanting sound. —
Unanimous — the prize is voted
And philomel's at once promoted.