Ballads, Founded on Anecdotes Relating to Animals — Reading Notes

Nor thought its rage, tho' fierce it scream'd, Would to her vale descend.

With plunder borne thro' distant air, She saw it stain the rock, Yet trusted it would nobly spare Her little neighbouring flock.

Ah Jessy, oft the fancied friend, Commits a cruel wrong; Weak neighbours seldom should depend On kindness from the strong.

No manly guard hast thou with thee A savage foe to scare, For thy good man far off to sea The distant billows bear.

That best of guards thou oft has known, But of his aid bereft, Two little boys with thee alone Are all thy treasures left.

The eldest grew with manly grace, His years yet barely seven, A stripling of a sweeter face, Has never gaz'd on Heaven.

He was indeed a friend most rare, To chear his lonely mother, And aid her in her constant care His little baby-brother.

With these to Jessy much endear'd, Whom from the world she hid, Three nurslings more she fondly rear'd, Two lambkins and a kid.

Most tender playmates all the five, None stray'd the vale beyond, They were the happiest imps alive, All of each other fond.

And Jessy all with joy survey'd, With joy her heart ran o'er, When they their little gambols play'd, She spinning at her door.

But how mischance will intervene: This spot of sweet delight, One eventide, became a scene Of anguish and affright.

The elder boy, gay Donald, chanc'd, Far from the door to play, Lest, now within the vale advanc'd, His kid might roam away.

The mother sat to watch the vale, Nor yet his sport forbid; But starts to see the Eagle sail Above the trembling kid.

The kid began to quake and cry; Not so the braver boy, The full-winged savage to defy Was his heroic joy.

Still nearer sail'd the undaunted bird, Its destin'd deed undone, And when its ravenous scream she heard The mother join'd her son.

Their shouts united, and each arm In bold protection spread, Secur'd the kid from real harm, Tho' now with fear half dead,

Some furlongs from their cottage sill, Now pass'd this anxious scene; There they had left, as safe from ill, The sleeping babe serene.

The savage bird the kid renounc'd, But round the cottage oft Rapid he wheel'd, and there he pounc'd, And bore the babe aloft.

Ah!--who can now that impulse paint, Which fires the mother's breast? Nor toil, nor danger, makes her faint; She seeks this Eagle's nest.

But first with courage clear, tho' warm, As guides the martial shock, When British tars prepare to storm A fortress on a rock.

She bids, to mark the Eagle's flight, Young Donald watch below, While she will mount the craggy height, And to his aerie go.

With filial hope her son, who knew Her courage and her skill, Watch'd to parental orders true, Magnanimously still.

And now, his mother out of sight, He fixt his piercing eye On crags, that blaz'd in solar light, Whence eagles us'd to fly.

He saw, as far as eye may ken, A crag with blood defil'd, And entering this aerial den The Eagle and the child.

The boy, tho' trusting much in God, With generous fear was fill'd; Aware, that, if those crags she trod, His mother might be kill'd.

His youthful mind was not aware How nature may sustain Life, guarded by maternal care From peril, and from pain.

And now he sees, or thinks he sees (His heart begins to pant) A woman crawling on her knees, Close to the Eagle's haunt.

It is thy mother, gallant boy, Lo! up her figure springs: She darts, unheard, with speechless joy Between the Eagle's wings.

Behold! her arms its neck enchain, And clasp her babe below: Th' entangled bird attempts in vain Its burthen to o'erthrow.

Now Heaven defend thee, mother bold, Thy peril is extreme: Thou'rt dead, if thou let go thy hold, Scar'd by that savage scream;

And bravely if thou keep it fast, What yet may be thy doom! This very hour may be thy last, That aerie prove thy tomb.

No! No! thank Heaven! O nobly done! O marvellous attack! I see thee riding in the sun, Upon the Eagle's back.

In vain it buffets with its wings, In vain it wheels around; Still screaming, in its airy rings, It sinks towards the ground.

Run, Donald, run! she has not stirr'd, And she is deadly pale: She's dead; and with the dying bird Descending to the vale.

Lo! Donald flies.--She touches earth: O form'd on earth to shine! O mother of unrivall'd worth, And sav'd by aid divine!

She lives unhurt--unhurt too lies The baby in her clasp; And her aerial tyrant dies Just strangled in her grasp.

What triumph swelled in Donald's breast, And o'er his features spread. When he his living mother prest, And held the Eagle dead!

Angels, who left your realms of bliss. And on this parent smil'd, Guard every mother brave as this, In rescuing her child!

Blest be the boy, by virtue nurst, Who knows not aught of fear's controul, And keeps, in peril's sudden burst, The freedom of an active soul.

Such was a lively Tuscan boy, Who lived the youthful Tasso's friend, Friendship and verse his early joy, And music, form'd with love to blend.

Love had inspir'd his tender frame, His years but two above eleven, The sister of his friend his flame! A lovely little light of Heaven!

Born in the same propitious year, Together nurst, together taught; Each learn'd to hold the other dear, In perfect unison of thought.

Their forms, their talents, and their talk, Seem'd match'd by some angelic powers, Ne'er grew upon a rose's stalk A sweeter pair of social flowers.

Fortunio was the stripling's name, Cornelia his affection's queen, Both to all eyes, where'er they came, Endear'd by their attractive mien.

For like a pair of fairy sprites, Endued with soft ætherial grace, Enrapt in musical delights They hardly seem'd of mortal race!

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 gratitude, 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!

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, nobler 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!"

Catau was an heroic maid, Most apt to lend a sufferer aid; With quick-ey'd zeal she found A ladder, and a triple fork, On which to lift each callow Stork, And guide them to the ground.

With pity's just, and dauntless, haste, She mounts the ladder rightly plac'd, She rears the guardian fork; Her heart expands, with hope elate, That she shall kindly snatch from fate Each tender little Stork.

Dear virtuous damsel, vainly brave, Thou must resign thy hopes to save These innocents from death! The faithless ladder breaks--the maid Escaping by angelic aid, Now scarce retains her breath.

Forgetting selfish fear, her eye Is fixt upon the scene on high, With anguish and despair; The dauntless bird, with wond'rous skill, A parent's duty to fulfil, Toils in the troubled air.

Two of the callow young she lays, Beyond the peril of the blaze; But while the last she rears, The other little ones distrest Crawl back within the burning nest, And aggravate her fears.

Now in the vex'd and heated air, She draws fresh courage from despair; She sees them gasp for breath; Tho' fiercer flames around her sprung, She settles on her dying young, And welcomes social death!

"My glorious bird," exclaims the maid, Who her brave fav'rite survey'd, While she expir'd above: "I will not at thy lot repine, But rather pray it may be mine, To die with those I love!"

Maternal love! thou wond'rous power, By no base fears controul'd, Tis truly thine, in danger's hour, To make the tender bold!

And yet, more marvellous! thy sway, Amid the pathless wild, Can humanize the beast of prey! And make the savage mild!

A traveller, on Afric's shore. Near to a forest's side, That shook with many a monster's roar, With hasty caution hied.

But suddenly, full in his way, A Panther he descries; Athwart his very road she lay, And fixt his fearful eyes.

With backward step, and watchful stare If refuge there may be; He hopes to gain, with trembling care, The refuge of a tree.

A fruitless hope--the Panther moves, Perceiving his intent, And vain his utmost caution proves Her purpose to prevent.

But no fierce purpose to destroy The dreadful beast impells; Her gesture, blending grief and joy, Far other motive tells.

Round him she fawns, with gentle pace; Her actions all entreat: She looks imploring in his face, And licks his hands and feet!

The traveller, a Roman born, Was of a generous mind; He never view'd distress with scorn, To all that breath'd most kind.

And soon all selfish fear apart, His native spirit rose, The suffering Panther won his heart, He only felt her woes.

"Jove help thee gracious beast," he cried, "Some evil wounds thee sore, And it shall be my joy and pride, Thy sorrows to explore!"

The beast his kindness understood, Fix'd on his robe a claw, And gently to the neighb'ring wood, Appear'd her friend to draw.

How little is the want of speech, When kindness rules the heart; Gesture will then all lessons teach, That language can impart!

The Roman, Caelius, was his name, By brave compassion sway'd, Conjectur'd all the Panther's aim, And gave her willing aid.

For in the forest with his guide, He hears her wailing young, To whom the tender beast replied. With a maternal tongue.

He sees them only in his thought, For in a curious snare, The hapless little creatures caught, Could only murmur there.

Deep in an earthy trap they lay, An iron grate above, Precluded them from chearful day, And from a mother's love!

But quicken'd by the touching sound, The little captives made, The generous Cælius clear'd the ground. And all the snare display'd.

Two vigorous cubs spring up to light, And to their parent haste; Cælius a third, in tenderer plight, Within the pit embrac'd!

For in he leap'd, to save the young, That seem'd to suffer harm; And swiftly from the pit he sprung, The cub beneath his arm.

The conscious nursling lick'd his cheek, With young endearment sweet, He kiss'd, and laid it safe, tho' weak, Before its parent's feet.

Too faint is language to describe, The Panther's grateful glee, Contemplating her little tribe, From deadly bondage free.

By gesture, that with meaning glows, All eloquence above, She largely, on her friend, bestows, Protection, thanks, and love!

Seeing him start, to hear a roar, That spoke the lion near, She guides him thro' her wood once more, And banishes his fear.

Here (when she brought him to his road) Her gesture said, "we part!" With friendship all her features glow'd, Each movement spoke her heart.

He shar'd her feelings. "Bless your den," He said, as he withdrew, "For gratitude has fled from men, And seems to live with you!"

Ingratitude! of earth the shame! Thou monster, at whose hated name, The nerves of kindness ake; Would I could drive thee from mankind, By telling how a grateful mind, Once dignified a snake.

The tale is antient, and is sweet, To mortals, who with joy repeat, What soothes the feeling heart; The first of virtues, that may boast The power to soothe, and please it most, Sweet gratitude, thou art.

The reptile, whom thy beauties raise, Has an unquestion'd claim to praise, That justice will confirm! The Muses, with a graceful pride, May turn from thankless man aside, To celebrate a worm!

In Arcady, grave authors write, There liv'd a Serpent, the delight, Of an ingenuous child; Proud of his kindness, the brave boy. Fed and caress'd it with a joy, Heroically mild.

Pleased all his gambols to attend, The snake, his playfellow, and friend, Still in his sight he kept; The reptile, ever at his side, Obeys him waking, and with pride, Would watch him, while he slept!

Once ere her darling was awake, The anxious mother saw the snake, So twin'd around his arm, She begged her husband to convey The fondling serpent far away, For fear of casual harm.

The happy father of the child, Himself a being bravely mild, To her request attends; Conscious such comrades could not part Without great anguish of the heart, He fear'd to wound the friends.

They both were young, and both had shewn Affection into habit grown, With feelings most acute; Yet to a parent's duty just, Tho' griev'd to part them, part he must, The point bears no dispute.

But with a tenderness of mind That prov'd him truly not inclined, Their friendship to destroy; He form'd a plan, and held it good; To hurt as little as he could, The Serpent, or the boy.

To sleep he both with opiates lur'd, Then, in their slumber's bond secur'd, See in his arms they go! To woody scenes, where for the snake, (There left entranc'd) when he shall wake, Both food and shelter grow.

The slumbering boy awak'd at home, And miss'd his friend, and wish'd to roam, And seek the friend he miss'd: But hearing all his sire had done, Soon pacified, the grateful son, Could not such love resist.

He promis'd, for his mother's sake, Not to recall his exil'd snake, Nor wander to his wood; He was a boy of manly soul, And true to honour's just controul, He made his promise good.

Nature, to these divided friends Now in their separate lot attends; Time decks them as he flies; The child, a graceful stripling grows, And freedom on the snake bestows, A formidable size.

And now it chanc'd the Arcadian youth, Renown'd for courage, love and truth! Had sought a favourite maid; Led by her tender charms to roam, Forgetting distance from his home, Abroad too late he stay'd.

Sooner indeed he meant to start, To save a watchful parent's heart, And not one fear excite: But oft, as nature's records tell, Ere love can utter his farewell, Day melts into the night.

Eager to take the shortest road, That led to his remote abode, He thro' a forest sped; There, by the moon's slow rising beam, He saw a robber's faulchion gleam, High brandish'd o'er his head.