 | The youth's coronal |  |
165
THE BAT'S FLIGHT BY DAYLIGHT.
AN ALLEGORY.
A bat one morn from his covert flew,
To show the world what a Bat could do,
By soaring off on a lofty flight,
In the open day, by the sun's clear light!
He quite forgot that he had for wings
But a pair of monstrous, plumeless things;
That, more than half like a fish's fin,
With a warp of bone, and a woof of skin,
Were only fit in the dark to fly,
In view of a bat's or an owlet's eye.
To show the world what a Bat could do,
By soaring off on a lofty flight,
In the open day, by the sun's clear light!
He quite forgot that he had for wings
But a pair of monstrous, plumeless things;
That, more than half like a fish's fin,
With a warp of bone, and a woof of skin,
Were only fit in the dark to fly,
In view of a bat's or an owlet's eye.
He sallied forth from his hidden hole,
And passed the door of his neighbor, Mole,
Who shrugged, and said, “Of the two so blind
The wisest, surely, stays behind!”
But he could not cope with the glare of day:
He lost his sight, and he missed his way;—
He wheeled on his flapping wings, till, “bump!”
His head went, hard on the farm-yard pump.
Then, stunned and posed, as he met the ground,
A stir and a shout in the yard went round;
For its tenants thought they had one come there,
That seemed not of water, earth, or air.
The Hen, “Cut, cut, cut-dah-cut!” cried,
For all to cut at the thing she spied;
While the taunting Duck said, “Quack, quack, quack!”
As her muddy mouth to the pool went back,
For something denser than sound, to show
Her sage disgust, at the quack to throw.
The old Turk strutted, and gobbled aloud,
Till he gathered around him a babbling crowd;
When each proud neck in the whole doomed group
Was poked with a condescending stoop,
And a pointed beak, at the prostrate Bat,
Which they eyed askance, as to ask, “What's that?”
But none could tell; and the poults moved off,
In their select circle to leer and scoff.
The Goslings skulked; but their wise mamma,
She hissed, and screamed, till the Lambs cried, “Ba-a!”
When up from his straw sprang the gaping Calf,
With a gawky leap and a clammy laugh.
He stared—retreated—and off he went,
The wondrous news in his voice to vent,—
That he had discovered a monster there—
A bird four-footed, and clothed with hair!
And had dashed his heel at the sight so odd,
It looked, he thought, like a heathen god!
And passed the door of his neighbor, Mole,
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The wisest, surely, stays behind!”
But he could not cope with the glare of day:
He lost his sight, and he missed his way;—
He wheeled on his flapping wings, till, “bump!”
His head went, hard on the farm-yard pump.
Then, stunned and posed, as he met the ground,
A stir and a shout in the yard went round;
For its tenants thought they had one come there,
That seemed not of water, earth, or air.
The Hen, “Cut, cut, cut-dah-cut!” cried,
For all to cut at the thing she spied;
While the taunting Duck said, “Quack, quack, quack!”
As her muddy mouth to the pool went back,
For something denser than sound, to show
Her sage disgust, at the quack to throw.
The old Turk strutted, and gobbled aloud,
Till he gathered around him a babbling crowd;
When each proud neck in the whole doomed group
Was poked with a condescending stoop,
And a pointed beak, at the prostrate Bat,
Which they eyed askance, as to ask, “What's that?”
But none could tell; and the poults moved off,
In their select circle to leer and scoff.
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She hissed, and screamed, till the Lambs cried, “Ba-a!”
When up from his straw sprang the gaping Calf,
With a gawky leap and a clammy laugh.
He stared—retreated—and off he went,
The wondrous news in his voice to vent,—
That he had discovered a monster there—
A bird four-footed, and clothed with hair!
And had dashed his heel at the sight so odd,
It looked, he thought, like a heathen god!
The scuddling Chicks cried, “Peep, peep, peep!
For Boss looks high, but not very deep!
It is not a fowl! 'tis the worst of things,—
A low, mean beast, with the use of wings,
So noiseless round on the air to skim,
You know not when you are safe from him.”
For Boss looks high, but not very deep!
It is not a fowl! 'tis the worst of things,—
A low, mean beast, with the use of wings,
So noiseless round on the air to skim,
You know not when you are safe from him.”
There stood by, some of the bristly tribe,
Who felt so touched by the peeper's gibe,
Their backs were up; for they thought, at least,
It aimed at them the low, mean beast:
And they challenged Chick to her tiny face,
In their sharp, high notes, and their awful base.
Who felt so touched by the peeper's gibe,
Their backs were up; for they thought, at least,
It aimed at them the low, mean beast:
And they challenged Chick to her tiny face,
In their sharp, high notes, and their awful base.
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Then old Chanticleer to his mount withdrew,
And gave from his rostrum a loud halloo.
He blew his clarion strong and shrill,
Till he turned all eyes to his height, the hill;
When he noised it round with his loudest crow,
That 't was none of the plumed ones brought so low.
And gave from his rostrum a loud halloo.
He blew his clarion strong and shrill,
Till he turned all eyes to his height, the hill;
When he noised it round with his loudest crow,
That 't was none of the plumed ones brought so low.
And, “Bow-wow-wow!” went the sentry Cur;
But he soon strolled off in a grave demur,
When he saw on the wonder, hair, like his,
Two ears, and a kind of doubtful phiz;
And he deemed it prudent to pause, and hark
In silence, for fear that the sight might bark!
But he soon strolled off in a grave demur,
When he saw on the wonder, hair, like his,
Two ears, and a kind of doubtful phiz;
And he deemed it prudent to pause, and hark
In silence, for fear that the sight might bark!
At last came Puss, with a cautious pat
To feel the pulse of the quivering Bat,
That had not, under her tender paw,
A limb to move, nor a breath to draw!
Then she called her kit for a mother's gift,
And stilled its mew with the racy lift.
To feel the pulse of the quivering Bat,
That had not, under her tender paw,
A limb to move, nor a breath to draw!
Then she called her kit for a mother's gift,
And stilled its mew with the racy lift.
When Mole of the awful death was told,
“Alas!” cried she, “he had grown too bold—
Too vain and proud! Had he only kept,
Like the prudent Mole, in his nest, and slept,
Or worked underground, where none could see,
He might have still been alive, like me!”
“Alas!” cried she, “he had grown too bold—
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Like the prudent Mole, in his nest, and slept,
Or worked underground, where none could see,
He might have still been alive, like me!”
While thus, so early the poor Bat died,
A cry, that it was but the fall of pride,
And signs of mirth, or of scorn, were all
He had from those who beheld his fall.
They each could triumph, and each condemn;
But no kind pity was shown by them.
A cry, that it was but the fall of pride,
And signs of mirth, or of scorn, were all
He had from those who beheld his fall.
They each could triumph, and each condemn;
But no kind pity was shown by them.
And now, should we, as a mirror, place
This story out for the world to face,
How many, think you, would there perceive
Likeness to children of Adam and Eve?
This story out for the world to face,
How many, think you, would there perceive
Likeness to children of Adam and Eve?
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