The Phoenix and the Owl

THE PHoeNIX AND THE OWL ,

Phoenix the first, th' Arabian lord,
And chief of all the feather'd kind,
A hundred ages had ador'd
The sun, with sanctity of mind.

Yet, mortal, ye man yield to fate;
He heard the summons with a smile,
And, unalarm'd, without regret,
He form'd himsell a fun'ral pile.

A Howlet, bird of mean degree,
Poor, dosen'd, lame, and doited auld,
Lay lurking in a neighb'ring tree,
Cursing the sun loot him be cauld.

Said Phaenix, " Brother, why so griev'd,
" To ban the Being gives thee breath?
" Learn to die better than thou 'st liv'd;
" Believe me, there 's nae ill in death. "

" Believe ye that? " the Owl reply'd:
" Preach as ye will, death is an ill:
" When young I ilka pleasure try'd,
" But now I die against my will.

" For you, a species by yoursell,
" Near eeldins with the sun your god,
" Nae ferly 'tis to hear you tell
" Ye 're tir'd, and inclin'd to nod.

" It shou'd be sae; for had I been
" As lang upon the warld as ye,
" Nae tears shou'd e'er drap frae my een,
" For tinsel of my hollow tree. "

" And what, " return'd th' Arabian sage,
" Have ye t' observe ye have not seen?
" Ae day 's the picture of an age,
" 'Tis ay the same thing o'er again.

" Come, let us baith together die:
" Bow to the sun that gave thee life,
" Repent thou frae his beams did flee,
" And end thy poortith pain, and strife.

" Thou wha in darkness took delight,
" Frae pangs of guilt could'st ne'er be free:
" What won thou by thy shunning light? —
" But time flies on, I haste to die. "

" Ye'r servant, Sir, " reply'd the Owl,
" I likena in the dark to lowp:
" The byword ca's that chiel a fool,
" That slips a certainty for hope. "

Then straight the zealous feather'd king
To 's aromatic nest retir'd
Collected sun-beams with his wing,
And in a spicy flame expir'd.

Meantime there blew a westlin gale,
Which to the Howlet bore a coal;
The saint departed on his pile,
But the blasphemer in his hole:

He died for ever. — Fair and bright
The Phaenix frae his ashes sprang.
Thus wicked men sink down to night,
While just men join the glorious thrang.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.