Ballads | Page 5

fire.
The child and parent liv'd alone:
Each to the other long had shewn

Such pure and perfect love,
Comrades they wanted none beside,

Both cherishing, with tender pride,
Their Stork, who built above.
To their high chimney's top she sprung,
Protecting there three callow
young,
Too feeble to descend:
But oft she visited the ground,
And
in her youthful hostess found
A playmate, and a friend.
In scenes of social care endear'd,
As sure as supper time appear'd,

The Stork a ready guest,
Was constant at the damsel's side,
And she
with dainties was supplied,
To carry to her nest.
But how among the dearest brood
Calamity will oft intrude,
And
fairest hopes prevent;
How quick can desolation's storm
With
horrid agonies deform,
The scene of sweet content!

As early one autumnal eve,
Catau was eager to receive
Her father to
his feast;
She look'd without her door, and saw
Aloft a little blaze of
straw,
That in the wind encreas'd.
Alas! from her high chimney's top
A dangerous spark had chanc'd to
drop,
And fir'd the fav'rite nest!
She sees the affrighted parent fly,

Around her young, and seem to cry
"Oh succour the distrest!"
Catau was an heroic maid,
Most apt to lend a sufferer aid;
With
quick-ey'd zeal she found
A ladder, and a triple fork,
On which to
lift each callow Stork,
And guide them to the ground.
With pity's just, and dauntless, haste,
She mounts the ladder rightly
plac'd,
She rears the guardian fork;
Her heart expands, with hope
elate,
That she shall kindly snatch from fate
Each tender little Stork.
Dear virtuous damsel, vainly brave,
Thou must resign thy hopes to
save
These innocents from death!
The faithless ladder breaks--the
maid
Escaping by angelic aid,
Now scarce retains her breath.
Forgetting selfish fear, her eye
Is fixt upon the scene on high,
With
anguish and despair;
The dauntless bird, with wond'rous skill,
A
parent's duty to fulfil,
Toils in the troubled air.
Two of the callow young she lays,
Beyond the peril of the blaze;

But while the last she rears,
The other little ones distrest
Crawl
back within the burning nest,
And aggravate her fears.
Now in the vex'd and heated air,
She draws fresh courage from
despair;
She sees them gasp for breath;
Tho' fiercer flames around
her sprung,
She settles on her dying young,

And welcomes social
death!
"My glorious bird," exclaims the maid,
Who her brave fav'rite
survey'd,
While she expir'd above:
"I will not at thy lot repine,


But rather pray it may be mine,
To die with those I love!"
THE PANTHER.
BALLAD THE SIXTH.
Maternal love! thou wond'rous power,
By no base fears controul'd,

Tis truly thine, in danger's hour,
To make the tender bold!
And yet, more marvellous! thy sway,
Amid the pathless wild,
Can
humanize the beast of prey!
And make the savage mild!
A traveller, on Afric's shore.
Near to a forest's side,
That shook with
many a monster's roar,
With hasty caution hied.
But suddenly, full in his way,
A Panther he descries;
Athwart his
very road she lay,
And fixt his fearful eyes.
With backward step, and watchful stare
If refuge there may be;
He
hopes to gain, with trembling care,
The refuge of a tree.
A fruitless hope--the Panther moves,
Perceiving his intent,
And
vain his utmost caution proves
Her purpose to prevent.
But no fierce purpose to destroy
The dreadful beast impells;
Her
gesture, blending grief and joy,
Far other motive tells.
Round him she fawns, with gentle pace;
Her actions all entreat:
She
looks imploring in his face,
And licks his hands and feet!
The traveller, a Roman born,
Was of a generous mind;
He never
view'd distress with scorn,
To all that breath'd most kind.
And soon all selfish fear apart,
His native spirit rose,
The suffering
Panther won his heart,
He only felt her woes.

"Jove help thee gracious beast," he cried,
"Some evil wounds thee
sore,
And it shall be my joy and pride,
Thy sorrows to explore!"
The beast his kindness understood,
Fix'd on his robe a claw,
And
gently to the neighb'ring wood,
Appear'd her friend to draw.
How little is the want of speech,
When kindness rules the heart;

Gesture will then all lessons teach,
That language can impart!
The Roman, Caelius, was his name,
By brave compassion sway'd,

Conjectur'd all the Panther's aim,
And gave her willing aid.
For in the forest with his guide,
He hears her wailing young,
To
whom the tender beast replied.
With a maternal tongue.
He sees them only in his thought,
For in a curious snare,
The
hapless little creatures caught,
Could only murmur there.
Deep in an earthy trap they lay,
An iron grate above,
Precluded
them from chearful day,
And from a mother's love!
But quicken'd by the touching sound,
The little captives made,
The
generous Cælius clear'd the ground.
And all the snare display'd.
Two vigorous cubs spring up to light,
And to their parent haste;

Cælius a third, in tenderer plight,
Within the pit embrac'd!
For in he leap'd, to save the young,
That seem'd to suffer harm;
And
swiftly from the pit he sprung,
The cub beneath his arm.
The conscious nursling lick'd his cheek,
With young endearment
sweet,
He kiss'd, and laid it safe, tho' weak,
Before its parent's feet.
Too faint is language to describe,
The Panther's grateful glee,

Contemplating her little tribe,
From deadly bondage free.

By gesture, that with meaning glows,
All eloquence above,
She
largely, on her friend, bestows,
Protection, thanks, and love!
Seeing him start, to hear a roar,
That spoke the