FROM KRYLOF.

Whene’er companions don’t agree, They work without accord; And naught but trouble doth result, Although they all work hard. One day a Swan, a Pike, a Crab, Resolved a load to haul. All three were harnessed to the cart, And pulled together all. But though they pulled with all their might, That cart-load on the bank stuck tight. The Swan pulled upwards to the skies, The Crab did backwards crawl, The Pike made for the water straight: This proved no use at all. Now, which of them was most to blame ’Tis not for me to say, But this I know—the load is there Unto this very day.

The first in the spring, From its earliest day, To God do I sing; He feeds me alway. I sow not, nor spin, I toil not for food; I love the sweet spring— Blithe, then, is my mood. My nest’s in the field; I live in the sky; I skim o’er the meads; Through flower-beds I fly. At times o’er the streams Like arrow I sweep; The swiftest of steeds Can’t pace with me keep. And yet I am caught By one little grain, And thus, for my life, A prisoner remain. For grain, as a snare, With cunning is set; One glance—and lo! there, The bird’s in the net.