Fables in Song :: :: University of Virginia Library

How that bronze tube, round which erewhile
This discussion was carried so high,
Mock'd, as it listen'd, and said with a smile,
“Men boast, but the victor am I!”
“Thou?” growl'd the Cannon Ball—“thou! is it thou
Who didst level yon walls with the plain,
Mowing down men, as the harvesters mow
Hollow paths thro' the thick of the grain?
Braggart! 'tis I who alone can do this.
'Tis the brush of my brazen orb bursts wide
War's mason'd masses!”—Whereto, with a hiss,
“Silence, blockhead!” the Powder replied.
“On the arsenal floor had'st thou rested still,
Were it not for me, who thy wings provide.
And thou art but the deed: it is I am the will.”
But, as thus he mutter'd, with surly pride,

“Vagabond!” scornfully splutter'd the Match,
“Boast not thou in thy master's presence!
Ball, Cannon, and Powder,—inert batch
Of base stuff, stirr'd by my quickening essence,—
The Fire am I, and my slaves are ye.
He, whose vitals a vulture tore,
Well was he 'ware of the worth of me,
When from heaven he stole, in the days of yore,
The spark that in my Promethean wand
Yet glows with the heat of a god's invention.”