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!"