A Sage Awakened By The Dawn, By Music Of The Groves Was Drawn From Tree To Tree: Responsive Notes Arose From Many Warbling Throats. As He Advanced, The Warblers Ceased; Silent The Bird And Scared The Beast - The Nightingale Then Ceased Her Lay, And The Scared Leveret Ran Away. The Sage Then Pondered, And His Eye Roamed Round To Learn The Reason Why. He Marked A Pheasant, As She Stood Upon A Bank, Above Her Brood; With Pride Maternal Beat Her Breast As She Harangued And Led From Nest: "Play On, My Infant Brood - This Glen Is Free From Bad Marauding Men. O Trust The Hawk, And Trust The Kite, Sooner Than Man - Detested Wight! Ingratitude Sticks To His Mind, - A Vice Inherent To The Kind. The Sheep, That Clothes Him With Her Wool, Dies At The Shambles - Butcher'S School; The Honey-Bees With Waxen Combs Are Slain By Hives And Hecatombs; And The Sagacious Goose, Who Gives The Plume Whereby He Writes And Lives, And As A Guerdon For Its Use He Cuts The Quill And Eats The Goose. Avoid The Monster: Where He Roams He Desolates Our Raided Homes; And Where Such Acts And Deeds Are Boasted, I Hear We Pheasants All Are Roasted."