Ballads, Founded on Anecdotes Relating to Animals Part 3

Often the youth, in early morn, Awak'd a social sylvan flute.

To notes as gay, as Dian's horn, Or tender, as Apollo's lute.

Then, at his side, his sovereign fair Appear'd the rising day to greet, Uniting to his dulcet air Devotion's song divinely sweet.

A fund of joys, that never waste, Nature to this sweet pair had given; Invention, harmony, and taste, And fancy, brightest gift of Heaven!

In quest of many a new device, Thro' pathless scenes they joy'd to roam, Composing songs most wildly sweet, Heard, with parental pride, at home.

Delighted in a wood to rove, That near their native city spread; There of its gayest flowers they wove, A garland for each other's head.

One morn when this dear task was done, And just as each the other crown'd, Seeking deep, shade to 'scape the sun, A piteous spectacle they found.

It was a dead disfigur'd fawn, Its milk white haunch some monster tore; It perish'd in that morning's dawn, Nor had the sun yet dried its gore!

Cornelia, nature's genuine child, Caress'd the dead, with pity pale; It's mangled limb, with gesture mild, She shrouded in her sea-green veil.

The sympathetic pair agreed, To form a grave without a spade; Bury their fawn beneath a tree, And chaunt a requiem to his shade.

Fortunio had a rustic knife, With this their feeling task they plann'd, And often in a friendly strife, They claim'd it from each other's hand.

But ere their tedious toil advanc'd, Towards its kind and tender end, Cornelia, as her quick eye glanc'd, Saw, what escap'd her toiling friend.

It was a sight that well might shake, A little heart of stouter mould; A sight, that made Cornelia quake, And all her quivering fibres cold!

A furious Stag advancing sprung, Eager along the echoing wood, As if vindictive for his young, To reach the spot, where now they stood.

Cornelia scarce could stand, for she Began her guardian to entreat; Seizing his busy arm, to flee Far from the fawn before her feet.

The youth her painful terror saw, And with a manly sterness said, In a firm voice, inspiring awe, "Cornelia I must be obeyed."

"True love is brave, whate'er may chance-- Behind this tree's protecting bole Stand thou--nor fear the Stag's advance, But trust to thy Fortunio's soul!"

The faithful maid, in double dread, Fear'd to offend him more than death; And now, as near the fierce foe sped, Behind the tree, she pants for breath.

Yet peeping thence in fond alarm, Most trembling for her guardian's life, She looks, expecting that his arm Would brandish his defensive knife.

Amazement kept the trembler mute, To see him hurl it far away, And from his bosom pluck his flute, And fearlessly begin to play.

The furious parent of the dead, Marking him near his blood-stain'd young, Aim'd at his breast with hostile head, As near the dauntless boy he sprung.

But ere the branching horns could reach, That object of ill-founded ire, Sounds of resistless magic teach Submission to the savage sire.

The young musician richly pour'd Notes from his pipe, so wond'rous sweet, A rav'nous pard must have ador'd, And melted at the minstrel's feet.

So softly plaintive was the strain, No living thing unmov'd could hear, What took from terror all its pain, And mixt delight with sorrow's tear.

The Stag with a pathetic grace Look'd up, most eloquently mute; And sighing in Fortunio's face, Now lick'd the hand, that held his flute.

Cornelia saw, with blest relief, The scene that every fear dismist; And sharing all his love and grief, Her foe, so humaniz'd, she kist.

Then by her brave musician's side, She fondly claspt his honour'd hand.

"And give me credit now," she cried, "For staying at thy stern command."

"Henceforth, tho' plung'd in perils new, I shrink from none, if thou art near, But feel our sacred maxim true, That perfect love will cast out fear!"

"This Stag to thee will ever shew The grat.i.tude, thy strains inspire!

And those, who soothe a parent's woe, Are dear to Heaven's all-soothing sire."

"Our duty to this hapless fawn We will perform, and often fly To hail his grave at early dawn; Youth and misfortune claim a sigh!"

The lovely nymph prophetic spoke; The Stag, as taught by powers above, Oft met them at their fav'rite oak, And seem'd to bless their tender love.

Here oft the little fair retir'd; Here lov'd from gayer scenes withdrawn, To breathe, what harmony inspir'd-- A dirge to memorize the fawn!

THE STORK.

BALLAD THE FIFTH.

Who can forget fair freedom's bird, That has her genuine praises heard, Confirm'd by frequent proof?

The patriot stork is sure to share The brave Batavian's generous care, While breeding on his roof,

In all her early, brightest, days, When Holland won immortal praise Her Spanish tyrant's dread!

She play'd not her heroic part With spirit, n.o.bler than the heart, Of one mild bird she bred.

It was a female Stork, whose mind Shew'd all the mother, bravely kind, In trial's fiercest hour; This bird had blest her happy lot, High-nested on a fisher's cot, As stedfast as a tower.

Her host, a man benignly mild, Was happy in a darling child Who now had woman's air; Her face intelligent and sweet, And her soft bosom was the seat Of kind courageous care.

The lovely girl was call'd Catau, She joy'd to make her neat hearth glow, For her returning sire; When from his distant toil he hied, To banquet by his daughter's side, Before his evening fire.

The child and parent liv'd alone: Each to the other long had shewn Such pure and perfect love, Comrades they wanted none beside, Both cherishing, with tender pride, Their Stork, who built above.

To their high chimney's top she sprung, Protecting there three callow young, Too feeble to descend: But oft she visited the ground, And in her youthful hostess found A playmate, and a friend.

In scenes of social care endear'd, As sure as supper time appear'd, The Stork a ready guest, Was constant at the damsel's side, And she with dainties was supplied, To carry to her nest.

But how among the dearest brood Calamity will oft intrude, And fairest hopes prevent; How quick can desolation's storm With horrid agonies deform, The scene of sweet content!

As early one autumnal eve, Catau was eager to receive Her father to his feast; She look'd without her door, and saw Aloft a little blaze of straw, That in the wind encreas'd.

Alas! from her high chimney's top A dangerous spark had chanc'd to drop, And fir'd the fav'rite nest!

She sees the affrighted parent fly, Around her young, and seem to cry "Oh succour the distrest!"