Owl And Farmer.

        An owl took, in a barn, a station
        As fittest for deep contemplation;
        There (like a Turk) upon a beam
        He sat, as Turks sit in hareem.

        So smokers, at the Magpie met,
        Peruse the 'Post-boy' or 'Gazette;'
        And thence foretell, in wise and sure hope,
        The future destinies of Europe.

        The farmer comes to see his sheaves.
        The owl his silent soul relieves;
        "Reason in man is sheer pretence,
        Would he - were he endowed with sense -
        Treat owls with scorning? He can praise
        The birds that twitter on the sprays:
        Linnets, and larks, and nightingales,
        Yet in the nobler owl he fails.
        Should I, by daylight, view my reign,
        Those birds would cluster in my train;
        Why do they pounce upon the wing,
        Save that they see and own their king?"

        "Pshaw!" said the farmer: "lump of pride!
        They only follow to deride;
        Your scream affrights the evening hour,
        When nightingales enchant the bower.
        Why all on earth - man, beast, and fowl -
        Know you for what you are - an owl.
        You and your train! 'midst Nature's rules,
        Fools in derision follow fools!"