 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
136
THE AMBITIOUS MITE.
A FABLE.
When Hope persuades, and Fame inspires us,
And Pride with warm ambition fires us,
Let Reason instant seize the bridle,
And wrest us frae the passions' guidal;
Else, like the hero of our fable,
We 'll aft be plung'd into a habble.
And Pride with warm ambition fires us,
Let Reason instant seize the bridle,
And wrest us frae the passions' guidal;
Else, like the hero of our fable,
We 'll aft be plung'd into a habble.
'Twas on a bonnie simmer day,
When a' the insect tribes were gay,
Some journeying o'er the leaves of roses,
Some brushing thrang their wings and noses,
Some wallowing sweet in bramble blossom,
In Luxury's saft downy bosom;
While ithers of a lower order
Were perch'd on plantain leaf's smooth border,
Wha frae their twa-inch steeps look'd down,
And view'd the kintra far around.
When a' the insect tribes were gay,
Some journeying o'er the leaves of roses,
Some brushing thrang their wings and noses,
Some wallowing sweet in bramble blossom,
In Luxury's saft downy bosom;
While ithers of a lower order
Were perch'd on plantain leaf's smooth border,
Wha frae their twa-inch steeps look'd down,
And view'd the kintra far around.
Ae pridefu' elf, amang the rest,
Wha's pin-point heart bumpt 'gainst his breast,
To work some mighty deed of fame
That would immortalise his name,
Through future hours would hand him down,
The wonder of an afternoon;
(For ae short day with them appears
As lang 's our lengthen'd hunner years).
Wha's pin-point heart bumpt 'gainst his breast,
To work some mighty deed of fame
That would immortalise his name,
Through future hours would hand him down,
The wonder of an afternoon;
(For ae short day with them appears
As lang 's our lengthen'd hunner years).
By chance, at hand, a bow'd horse hair
Stood up six inches high in air;
He plann'd to climb this lofty arch,
With philosophic deep research,
To prove (which aft perplex their heads)
What people peopled ither blades,
Or, from keen observation, show
Whether they peopled were or no.
Stood up six inches high in air;
He plann'd to climb this lofty arch,
With philosophic deep research,
To prove (which aft perplex their heads)
What people peopled ither blades,
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Whether they peopled were or no.
Our tiny hero onward hies,
Quite big with daring enterprise;
Ascends the hair's curvatur'd side,
Now pale with fear, now red with pride,
Now hanging pend'lous by the claw,
Now glad at having 'scaped a fa'.
What horrid dangers he came through
Would trifling seem for man to know;
Suffice, at length he reached the top,
The summit of his pride and hope,
And on his elevated station
Had plac'd himself for observation,
When, puff—the wind did end the matter,
And dash'd him in a horse-hoof gutter.
Quite big with daring enterprise;
Ascends the hair's curvatur'd side,
Now pale with fear, now red with pride,
Now hanging pend'lous by the claw,
Now glad at having 'scaped a fa'.
What horrid dangers he came through
Would trifling seem for man to know;
Suffice, at length he reached the top,
The summit of his pride and hope,
And on his elevated station
Had plac'd himself for observation,
When, puff—the wind did end the matter,
And dash'd him in a horse-hoof gutter.
Sae let the lesson gi'en us here
Keep each within his proper sphere,
And when our fancies tak' their flight,
Think on the wee ambitious mite.
Keep each within his proper sphere,
And when our fancies tak' their flight,
Think on the wee ambitious mite.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |