Classic Poem

Be gentle with the small,
And think it shame to do the feeble wrong!
The vengeance of the weak is very often strong.
Then be not arrogant, nor think that strength is all.
I have a tale to tell you that, —
Of how the lion's pride was humbled by a gnat.
Well, here, as I've been told, is how the story went:
The lion with the gnat put on a cold contempt.
The gnat was filled with rage; he could not stand the slight.
The gnat he rose in arms and sallied forth to fight.
He's knight and bugler, too; he trumps with all his breath
And challenges his foe to fight him to the Death.
The lion laughs; but gnat's not jesting.
On back, or eyes, or ears, our trumpeter comes pesting;
And picking out his spot, and waiting for his chance,
With eagle's swoop he lunges
And in the back his sting he plunges.
The lion quivers; at the foe his tail he flaunts.
But nimble is our gnat; besides, he knows no fear.
Full on the forehead perched, he is sucking near the brain;
The lion twists his head, the lion shakes his mane;
Our hero strikes and strikes again,
Gets home upon the nose, or pricks behind the ear.
How lion swore!
How terrible his roar!
He grinds his teeth with foaming jaws;
He tears the earth up with his claws.
The forest shakes all round, those awful tones to hear;
The beasts are terror-struck, they hide, they fly in fear,
The best foot first, and quick at that,
As if the flood had come, or some great conflagration.
And who? A gnat
Has thrown them into this consternation
The lion's rage is spent; his frantic efforts cease;
He falls upon the ground and sues the gnat for peace.
The gnat has slaked his ire; his ardor he restrains
Achilles' part is played; 'tis Homer's now remains;
His own
The trump that to the woods shall make his triumph known.