Occasional verse, moral and sacred Published for the instruction and amusement of the Candidly Serious and Religious [by Edward Perronet] |
 |
|
| THE SKY-LARK'S COMPLAINT:
|
 | Occasional verse, moral and sacred |  |
THE SKY-LARK'S COMPLAINT:
Or Cruelty to Dumb Creatures, Ingratitude to the Creator.
In that sweet month, the month of May,When all is soft, serene, and gay;
When Nature, in her vesture green,
Arobes the hill, or decks the plain;
When playful lambkins sport around,
And meek-ey'd daisies pink the ground;
When lowing herds (the farmer's pride)
Bellow their wants on ev'ry side;
When brighter suns salute the morn,
And richer tints the skies adorn;
A wakeful Lark forsook her nest,
And thus her gratitude address'd.
138
And so interpreted her song:
Such songs as duteous had become
The churl that sought the chanter's doom.)
“By whom I soar, to Him I sing;
Who gave me voice, He gave me wing:
And when my life with these are dead,
'Tis He will give my nestlings bread.
His bounteous hand provides us food,
And fills the mouths of beasts with good.
To Him I sing, to Him I rise,
Who built the earth, and form'd the skies.
By Him e'en I have been supplied,
Nor ever was my suit denied:
Meet then to Him I'll raise my song,
And will, be being short or long;
Nor aught prevent my daily rise,
To pay my daily sacrifice;
And when my charge can leave the nest,
They too shall rise and sing the rest.”
Thus blithe she hail'd the yielding sky,
As thought nor death nor danger nigh.
But she mistook, as mortals do,
And for their blunders often rue;
As, Reader, now your heart may hear,
If so its diction wound your ear.
A moment then attend the tale,
And let its documents prevail.
As thought nor death nor danger nigh.
But she mistook, as mortals do,
And for their blunders often rue;
As, Reader, now your heart may hear,
If so its diction wound your ear.
A moment then attend the tale,
And let its documents prevail.
139
A rustic clown that morn had rose,
(One of the brute creation's foes)
Who clumping on his errand went,
Without reflection or intent:
But lifting up his leaden eyes,
The mounting songster he espies;
And, feeling neither love nor care,
Stoop'd down and pick'd a pebbled spar:
When fraught with equal joy and spite,
He aim'd, and hop'd he aim'd aright.
Strait from his fist the ball he threw,
And then stood gaping as it flew:
Not doubting but the harmless stone
Wou'd dash its brains, or break a bone.
Such is the mercy mortals shew
To innocence in charge below;
And such the gratitude repaid
The honour done the creature's head!
As what for pleasure or for use,
Had neither but from vile abuse.
(One of the brute creation's foes)
Who clumping on his errand went,
Without reflection or intent:
But lifting up his leaden eyes,
The mounting songster he espies;
And, feeling neither love nor care,
Stoop'd down and pick'd a pebbled spar:
When fraught with equal joy and spite,
He aim'd, and hop'd he aim'd aright.
Strait from his fist the ball he threw,
And then stood gaping as it flew:
Not doubting but the harmless stone
Wou'd dash its brains, or break a bone.
Such is the mercy mortals shew
To innocence in charge below;
And such the gratitude repaid
The honour done the creature's head!
As what for pleasure or for use,
Had neither but from vile abuse.
Howe'er 'tis certainly no worse
Than man to man, each other's curse;
Who, where or strength or refuge fail,
By fraud or violence prevail;
And from revenge, or wanton spite,
Their will is law, their reason might.
Such were the notions of the clown,
And well if such are not our own:
As small the difference is seen
Betwixt ourselves and other men.
But here digress'd, we now assail
To end the moral of the tale;
The watchful guard o'er brutes to show,
And how the bird escap'd the blow.
Than man to man, each other's curse;
Who, where or strength or refuge fail,
By fraud or violence prevail;
And from revenge, or wanton spite,
Their will is law, their reason might.
Such were the notions of the clown,
And well if such are not our own:
As small the difference is seen
Betwixt ourselves and other men.
140
To end the moral of the tale;
The watchful guard o'er brutes to show,
And how the bird escap'd the blow.
That then which loves its care to hide
The missile ruin turn'd aside;
And (to the rustic's envious grief)
The songstress gave a quick relief:
Bid her in peace pursue her flight,
And reach secure her azur'd height.
The missile ruin turn'd aside;
And (to the rustic's envious grief)
The songstress gave a quick relief:
Bid her in peace pursue her flight,
And reach secure her azur'd height.
The bird secur'd, her flight pursu'd,
And went on warbling to her brood;
While yet with gratitude possess'd,
A livelier strain inspir'd her breast:
And taking now her highest spell,
She bid the late alarm “farewell.”
So too shall we, when safe we soar
Beyond the reach of danger's pow'r,
With equal joy and freedom rise,
And hail the turret of the skies:
Look down aloft, and view this sphere
An atom in the waste of air;
As nothing all that mortals see,
And space a vast immensity!
And went on warbling to her brood;
While yet with gratitude possess'd,
A livelier strain inspir'd her breast:
And taking now her highest spell,
She bid the late alarm “farewell.”
So too shall we, when safe we soar
Beyond the reach of danger's pow'r,
With equal joy and freedom rise,
And hail the turret of the skies:
Look down aloft, and view this sphere
An atom in the waste of air;
As nothing all that mortals see,
And space a vast immensity!
Such is the view that spirits have,
Emerg'd from shackles and their grave;
At large to range ethereal bounds,
And leave the stars their little rounds:
While mortals stare, but not aspire
To reach their height, or feel its fire.
Emerg'd from shackles and their grave;
At large to range ethereal bounds,
And leave the stars their little rounds:
While mortals stare, but not aspire
To reach their height, or feel its fire.
141
Thus far remark'd, we now renew
Our subject, and the bird pursue:
Who having reach'd her summit's flight,
Was now descending from its height;
Resolving, as she quiver'd down,
Herself to reason with the clown.
She did—and hanging o'er her nest,
In accent mild his ear address'd,
With such persuasion's simple pow'r,
As he ne'er heard at church before;
Such as few sires their children teach,
And downy doctors seldom preach.
“What mean'st (she said) thou graceless bard;
Our subject, and the bird pursue:
Who having reach'd her summit's flight,
Was now descending from its height;
Resolving, as she quiver'd down,
Herself to reason with the clown.
She did—and hanging o'er her nest,
In accent mild his ear address'd,
With such persuasion's simple pow'r,
As he ne'er heard at church before;
Such as few sires their children teach,
And downy doctors seldom preach.
Pray now, wou'd you not think it hard,
If we for once could make the change,
And you the ambient æther range,
If I, in human habit dress'd,
Should wound your life, or break your rest?
If I, with human wit endu'd,
My hands had in thy blood embru'd?
Answer thyself, and lick the dust,
If not both cruel and unjust,
That I, who only pleasure yield,
Content with lodging in the field;
And, waking at the dawn, arise,
To hymn my mattins in the skies;
To teach thy heart a song of praise,
And vie with me in stronger lays;
142
My skill: reveng'd, or put to pain;
A simple bird, whose artless quill
Was made for song, and not to kill?
Go, thou ingrate, and learn of me,
Both what to do, and what to be!”
The clown, amaz'd to hear her speak,
'Gan scratch his ears, and gnaw'd his stick;
And lumping round from side to side,
Pull'd down his hat, his chops to hide:
He neither look'd, nor spoke, nor stirr'd;
A Beast confounded by a Bird!
But even these have something left,
Whatever priests may have bereft.
Thus wond'ring at the strange event,
Where it might end, and what it meant,
His thoughts within began to turn,
His heart to heave, his bosom burn;
Convinc'd that this unthinking act,
Was real cruelty in fact;
While reason in the bird appeal'd,
Met something that conviction seal'd;
A spark of feeling that remain'd,
And both his cheeks and conscience stain'd
With what the modest call “a blush,”
But courtiers value not a rush.
'Gan scratch his ears, and gnaw'd his stick;
And lumping round from side to side,
Pull'd down his hat, his chops to hide:
He neither look'd, nor spoke, nor stirr'd;
A Beast confounded by a Bird!
But even these have something left,
Whatever priests may have bereft.
Thus wond'ring at the strange event,
Where it might end, and what it meant,
His thoughts within began to turn,
His heart to heave, his bosom burn;
Convinc'd that this unthinking act,
Was real cruelty in fact;
While reason in the bird appeal'd,
Met something that conviction seal'd;
A spark of feeling that remain'd,
And both his cheeks and conscience stain'd
With what the modest call “a blush,”
But courtiers value not a rush.
The bird, who now the change perceiv'd
Alike from dread as death repriev'd,
Embolden'd farther, now drew near,
And thus address'd his conscious fear:
“Consider who hath made us twain,
Alike from dread as death repriev'd,
143
And thus address'd his conscious fear:
And neither of us made in vain:
Can me to human shape refine,
Or metamorphose thee to mine;
And might, if suited to His plan,
Made you the bird, and me the man;
Thy spirit with thyself have died,
And each of mine been glorified.
His hand the same that each provides
With that which nourishes or hides:
The same o'er each His tender care,
To save us from the Fowler's snare;
That from thy malice saved me,
And from its blood preserved thee;
To whom thyself must one day give
A strict account, as born to live.
Not like to me, a moment's breath,
And then annihilate with death.
My time is short, tho' sweet my song,
But immortality is long.
I live but just to plume and die,
But thine is vast eternity!
Consider then, how wild as rude
Thy stupid, rash ingratitude!
And fix thy heart on things above,
Where all is song, and all is love:
144
In nature cramp'd, in sphere confin'd;
Whom Envy's self can't grudge the space,
I fill in Time or Nature's race.
Thus, when I'm silent, thou may'st sing,
And tho' I droop, expand the wing;
Soar higher than my pinions can,
To regions only made for Man;
As all, who live not to their shame,
Shall find, at death, were made for them:
Where winged spirits higher rise,
To other climes, and other skies;
Where endless songs of endless praise,
Shall celebrate His richest grace,
Who made me what I'm not alone,
But you an image of his own;
To live, be't long or short of me,
An heir of His eternity!
To fall, yet rise—to sink, yet soar,
And be where but Himself before.
This is thy lot, as that is mine;
Be joy, content, and wonder thine:
Accept the counsel friendly giv'n;
Be mine the earth, and thine be heav'n.”
This said,—the clown conceal'd his face
A sign of modesty and grace:
Which done, they each their rout pursu'd;
The Lark her nest, and he his road.
| Occasional verse, moral and sacred | |