Classic Poem

An American Fable

Trees once could speak, some Authors say,
And now, 'tis talk'd, that 'tother Day,
A Cherry-Tree , in vernal Pride,
A Peach , hard by, did thus deride.
" Ha! Neighbor Peach methinks, you look
Like one with some Disaster struck;
I doubt that this last Winter's Frost,
Has shewn its Rigour to your Cost.
The Birds, wont to frequent, so fond,
Your early Sweets, now fly, beyond.
No Blossom's there, scarce, ev'n a Leaf,
Your very Life's no more than safe.
Well! Nothing's stable here below,
Blossoms and Flow'rs are but a Show.
One Year, perhaps, it may go well,
And how the next, 'tis hard to tell:
But y'are more fit to moralize,
And, if less fair, should be more wise. "
The Peach , — " I find y'have learn'd to taunt,
So nigh to Houses since you haunt;
Tis not for nothing in that Corner
You stand so close, as an Adorner.
But, surely, 'tis a bad World, when
Trees shew such Pride, — leave that to Men:
Or leave it to the gentler Sex,
Their lovely Bosoms to perplex:
If their own Charms are not enough,
Let them be vain of Silk-Worm Stuff;
Vain of the Glittering of a Gem,
For Brightness not to match with them.
Excuse the Fair-ones, what is said,
For them, for Man, Pride was not made.
Leave it to Turky-Cocks and Pea-Cocks,
And May-poles drest with Garlands, Gay-stocks.
There is a Pride, that gives a Grace,
That's suitable to human Race;
Which it becomes them to defend,
From their Original, and End. —
Yet, even that to attemper's just,
Both great, — both mean, — the Heav'ns & Dust.
The Orient Form, here, humbly dwells
In Clay — so Pearls in vulgar Shells.
So some fair Saphire, in a Shrine
Of meaner Wood, — like yours or mine.
But as for us, and our Array, — "
The Cherry interrupts — " Hey-day;
Who learn'd you to make Similes?
They're too ambitious for us Trees.
Our language should be clear and plain,
And shew directly what we mean:
And not pretend to so much Knowledge,
As if we grew beside a Colledge. —
'Thad been as fit, and not amiss,
In your Harangue, t'have touch'd on this.
To Men, but still their Pardon craving,
To learn from Scant the Art of Saving.
And, if, this Year, some Fruits are few'r.
Give less to Hogs, and more to Poor.
But when Things are beyond our Sphere,
'Tis not our Part to interfere
In such high Matters, — let them be,
Now, say, what you've to say to me: "
" To you I say wh'are so bedeck'd,
You look too lofty to be check'd.
Short's the Duration of the Spring,
Beauty is but a fading Thing.
E'er long a sudden stormy Gust,
May lay your Honour's in the Dust.
The Birds, your Boughs that now salute,
Will be the first to peck your Fruit.
If I now look but wan and bare,
Shall Winters still be so severe.
You on your present Form presume,
I live in Hopes of future Bloom. " —
The MORAL — learn it from the Peach ,
And Cherry — both of them may teach: —
And some may hear — but as we treat them,
Many there are who'd rather eat them. —