Classic Poem

IN Tartary's bleak frozen land,
Where hardy Russians hold command,
The Ermine its soft beauty shows,
As white and pure as Alpine snows.
A Dog of no fine form possest,
Nor in external beauty drest,
This beast, admiring, thus address'd:
“O happy thou, of all the race
“That wide Siberia's deserts trace;
“'Tis thine the foremost rank to claim,
“And give a barren country fame;
“Thy beauteous skin, to all 'tis known,
“Can grace the monarch on his throne.”
The Ermine wisely thus reply'd:
“All this will never raise my pride.
“What tho' my skin as snow is white,
“Ought this to give my heart delight?
“No! better were I form'd like thee!
“And from such dangerous beauty free!
“True, I may grace the robes of kings,
“But hence my sure destruction springs.
“When for my skin I yield my breath,
“My beauty I deplore in death.”
Thus did the beast his fate foretell,
And the next day a victim fell.