 | Poetry for children |  |
The Rat.
When others for their faults are blam'd,
'Tis a good rule to show
Some causes for defence or praise,
If any such we know.
'Tis a good rule to show
Some causes for defence or praise,
If any such we know.
Now Rats are usually condemn'd
As quite devoid of grace,
And yet I can a story tell
In honor of their race.
As quite devoid of grace,
And yet I can a story tell
In honor of their race.
A gallant ship to Lisbon went,
And as it cross'd the sea,
It found increasing 'mid its freight
The rat fraternity.
And as it cross'd the sea,
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The rat fraternity.
And most uncomfortable friends
Those busy people were,
For nothing could be so conceal'd
But what they'd have a share.
Those busy people were,
For nothing could be so conceal'd
But what they'd have a share.
Candles, and eggs, and cheese, and bread,
Off to their cells they bore,
And rifled every apple-cask,
And every sweet-meat store.
Off to their cells they bore,
And rifled every apple-cask,
And every sweet-meat store.
And though to punish thefts like these
The sailors oft would toil,
Yet still these cunning culprits hid
And fattened on the spoil.
The sailors oft would toil,
Yet still these cunning culprits hid
And fattened on the spoil.
But when the vessel reach'd the port,
Dark vengeance they secured,
And fill'd their hold with sulphur smoke
Too strong to be endured.
Dark vengeance they secured,
And fill'd their hold with sulphur smoke
Too strong to be endured.
The rats not fancying such perfume,
Fled from their holes amain,
And hurrying headlong o'er the wharf,
Were without mercy slain.
Fled from their holes amain,
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Were without mercy slain.
But one was seen with care to tread
The path all red with gore,
And on his back, a rat quite grey
And blind with age he bore.
The path all red with gore,
And on his back, a rat quite grey
And blind with age he bore.
Then some who mark'd this filial deed
Did that good rat compare
To Eneas, who from flames of Troy,
His sire, Anchises, bare.
Did that good rat compare
To Eneas, who from flames of Troy,
His sire, Anchises, bare.
The astonish'd executioners,
No longer bitter foes,
Did let the faithful creature pass
In safety, where he chose.
No longer bitter foes,
Did let the faithful creature pass
In safety, where he chose.
This simple tale is true, my dears,
And so here ends the strain;
For even if rats our candor crave,
They should not ask in vain.
And so here ends the strain;
For even if rats our candor crave,
They should not ask in vain.
| Poetry for children | |