The Gryphon

It chanced that Allah, looking round,
When he had made his creatures, found
Half of an Eagle and a pair
Of extra Lion legs to spare.
So, hating waste, he took some glue
And made a Gryphon of the two.
But when his handiwork he eyed,
He frowned--and it was petrified,
Doomed for all time to represent
Impatience on a monument.
Sometimes upon our path to-day
Its living counterpart will stray--
Columbia's Eagle strutting in
An awf'ly English Lion's skin,
With glass in eye and swagg'ring gait:
Behold the Gryphon up to date.

Oliver Herford

Oliver Herford was born in England on December 2, 1860. He was a British-born American writer, artist, and illustrator, often referred to as 'The American Oscar Wilde' for his sharp wit and humorous works. Herford authored and illustrated many books for children and adults, contributing to magazines such as "The Criterion", "Life", and "Punch". He died on July 5, 1935, in France.

Oliver Herford

To Our Sweethearts

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Giraffe.

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

The Floor

Oliver Herford, Simple Poetry

English

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Poland

Augurs that watched archaic birds
Such plumèd prodigies might read,
The eagles that were double-faced,
The eagle that was black indeed;
And when the battle-birds went down
And in their track the vultures come,
We know what pardon and what peace
Will keep our little masters dumb.

The men that sell what others make,
As vultures eat what others slay,
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That naught is black and all is grey;
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Amid the crash of tables flapped
And huddled from the wrath of Christ.

But raised for ever for a sign
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Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Domineering Eagle And The Inventive Bratling

O'er a small suburban borough
Once an eagle used to fly,
Making observations thorough
From his station in the sky,
And presenting the appearance
Of an animated V,
Like the gulls that lend coherence
Unto paintings of the sea.

Looking downward at a church in
This attractive little shire,
He beheld a smallish urchin
Shooting arrows at the spire;
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"Look alive!" the eagle said;
And, with infinite precision,
Dropped a feather on his head.

Then the boy, annoyed distinctly
By the freedom of the bird,
Voiced his anger quite succinctly
In a single scathing word;
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And he fashioned of this same
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Then he tried ...

Guy Wetmore Carryl

The Eagle And The Crow

The Eagle flew off with a lamb;
Then the Crow thought to lift an old ram,
In his eaglish conceit,
The wool tangled his feet,
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Beware Of Overrating Your Own Powers

Walter Crane

The Eagle And The Owl.

^[1]

The eagle and the owl, resolved to cease
Their war, embraced in pledge of peace.
On faith of king, on faith of owl, they swore
That they would eat each other's chicks no more.
'But know you mine?' said Wisdom's bird.^[2]
'Not I, indeed,' the eagle cried.
'The worse for that,' the owl replied:
'I fear your oath's a useless word;
I fear that you, as king, will not
Consider duly who or what:
You kings and gods, of what's before ye,
Are apt to make one category.
Adieu, my young, if you should meet them!'
'Describe them, then, or let me greet them,
And, on my life, I will not eat them,'
The eagle said. The owl replied:
'My little ones, I say with pride,
For grace of form cannot be match'd, -
The prettiest birds that e'e...

Jean de La Fontaine

The King, The Kite, And The Falconer.

To His August Highness, Monseigneur The Prince De Conti.^[2]

The gods, for that themselves are good,
The like in mortal monarchs would.
The prime of royal rights is grace;
To this e'en sweet revenge gives place.
So thinks your highness, - while your wrath
Its cradle for its coffin hath.
Achilles no such conquest knew -
In this a hero less than you.
That name indeed belongs to none,
Save those who have, beneath the sun,
Their hundred generous actions done.
The golden age produced such powers,
But truly few this age of ours.
The men who now the topmost sit,
Are thank'd for crimes which they omit.
For you, unharm'd by such examples,
A thousand noble deeds are winning temples,
Wherein Apollo, by the altar-fire,
Shall strike your name...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Eagle And Dove.

In search of prey once raised his pinions
An eaglet;
A huntsman's arrow came, and reft
His right wing of all motive power.
Headlong he fell into a myrtle grove,
For three long days on anguish fed,
In torment writhed
Throughout three long, three weary nights;
And then was cured,
Thanks to all-healing Nature's
Soft, omnipresent balm.
He crept away from out the copse,
And stretch'd his wing alas!
Lost is all power of flight
He scarce can lift himself
From off the ground
To catch some mean, unworthy prey,
And rests, deep-sorrowing,
On the low rock beside the stream.
Up to the oak he looks,
Looks up to heaven,
While in his noble eye there gleams a tear.
Then, rustling through the myrtle boughs, behold,
There comes a wanton pair of...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe