Classic Poem

Within a ditch beyond my wall
I saw a falcon headlong fall
Bedaubed with mud and racked with pain,
It beat its wings to rise, in vain;
While little boys threw tiles and stones,
Eager to break the wretch's bones
O bird, methinks thy life of late
Hath amply justified this fate!
Thy sole delight to kill and steal,
And then exultingly to wheel,
Now sailing in the clear blue sky,
Now on the wild gale sweeping by,
Scorning thy kind of less degree
As all unfit to mate with thee
But mark how fortune's wheel goes round;
A pellet lays thee on the ground,
Sore stricken at some vital part—
And where is then thy pride of heart?
What's this to me?—I could not bear
To see the fallen one lying there
I begged its life, and from the brook
Water to wash its wounds I took
Fed it with bits of fish by day,
At night from foxes kept away
My care I knew would naught avail
For gratitude, that empty tale.
And so this bird would crouch and hide
Till want its stimulus applied;
And I, with no reward to hope,
Allowed its callousness full scope
Last eve the bird showed signs of rage,
With health renewed, and beat its cage
Today it forced a passage through,
And took its leave, without adieu
Good luck hath saved thee, not desert;
Beware, O bird, of further hurt;
Beware the archer's deadly tools!—
'Tis hard to escape the shafts of fools—
Nor e'er forget the chastening ditch
That found thee poor, and left thee rich.