FABLE V.
The HAWTHORN and the PRIMROSE.
I.
BENEATH a wild and rustic shade,
Impervious to the view;
In the sweet-smiling month of May,
A lovely Primrose grew.
II.
The gentle child of early Spring
By bounteous Flora crown’d;
With vernal beauties born to deck
The unfrequented ground.
III.
The brightest dye, the sweetest scent,
Her yellow leaves could yield;
Were spent upon the empty air,
Nor e’er adorn’d the field.
IV.
For round her grew a bushy brake,
With many’ a thorn beset;
And many’ a weed obscene and foul
Deform’d the green retreat.
V.
But high above the rest advanc’d
A spreading Hawthorn rose;
Whose lengthen’d branches overhung
The seat of her repose.
VI.
Her gem-like blossoms wide display’d
The darkling dell adorn;
With grateful fragrance kiss the wind,
And drink the dew of morn’.
VII.
Her the lone Rose in mournful guise
Full many a day had ey’d;
And thus at length one summer’s eve
She all impatient cry’d.
VIII.
“Ah Thorn! the bane of all my hopes!
“Ah Thorn! that wound’st my peace!
“Still must I view thy branches spread,
“And still my woes increase:
IX.
“I who long since had, happier far,
“Been by some fair caress’d;
“Had drunk the radiance of her eye,
“And panted on her breast?
X.
“What have I done, O wretch! that still
“This evil treatment meets;
“Or hast thou aught in lieu to give
“To those who lose my sweets?”
XI.
She said:—the Hawthorn thus reply’d,
“Fond pageant of an hour!
“Art thou displeas’d because I bloom,
“Though shelter’d by my pow’r?
XII.
“And know’st thou not that but for me
“Thy boasted bloom were vain;
“By grazing herds trod under foot,
“And level’d with the plain?
XIII.
“Thee I protect; myself am known
“Among the warlike race;
“Whom Nature arms with prompt defence
“Of most excelling grace.
XIV.
“Nor idly I these weapons wear,
“Nor idle is my bloom;
“One arms me for myself and thee;
“The other sheds perfume.
XV.
“And oft as this returning month
“Adds vigour to the year;
“Crown’d with my gems in rustic dance
“The nymphs and swains appear.
XVI.
“Me the fleet hare, and tim’rous fawn,
“Seek at their greatest need;
“They rest secure beneath my shade,
“And on my bounty feed.
XVII.
“But most the plaintive Philomel,
“Sweet warbler of the grove,
“Joys ’midst my branches to repose,
“And sing her hapless love.
XVIII.
“Against my thorns her bosom plac’d,
“She strains her tuneful throat;
“And by my useful aid exalts
“Each sweetly trilling note.
XIX.
“Sacred to Flora, of her train
“Although no flow’r am I;
“And born to flourish many a moon,
“When thou shalt fade and die.”
XX.
“Cease then, nor envy this my state,
“Which must thy own defend;
“The thorns I bear shall save thy flow’r,
“And prove thy surest friend.”
XXI.
So spake the Hawthorn, justly wise;
The Rose unansw’ring heard:
I caught the Moral, as it rose;
And thus its sense appear’d:
XXII.
Life’s humble vale is most secure;
Cares on th’ exalted wait:
Yet those who well the weak protect
Deserve unenvy’d State.