THE HERON AND THE WEATHER-VANE.
Reading edition
A FABLE.
A weather-vane on steeple top Had stood for many a day, And every year a coat of gold Increased his aspect gay. Subservient to the changing air, Each puff he'd quickly learn To obey with sycophantic twist And never-failing turn.
A Heron once, from lowly fen, Soared up in stately flight; But, striking 'gainst the gilded vane, He fell in sorry plight: And as, with wounded wing, he lay Down in the marsh below, He thus addressed the glittering thing, The cause of all his woe:
"Vain upstart! 'tis from such as thee That Merit, lowly born, In striving oft to win a name, Wins nought but bitter scorn: But for such treacherous knaves as thou, What crowds of souls would soar With lofty swoop, that now, like me, Will mount, Ah! never more!
It fits thee well, that lacquer suit, Base flunkey as thou art! Though bright, it never covered brain; Though gilded, ne'er a heart! Rather than wear upon my back Such livery as thine, I'd earn an honest crust, and make The scullion's calling mine."