Classic Poem

Just after his savory dinner one day,
A prosperous hawk flew over the wood:
There clung to his claws, as he floated away,
A sparrow's remains of feathers and blood.

A merchant, out hunting, observed his career,—
A prosperous merchant as any in town:
He saw all the little birds crouching in fear,
And on his brow gathered an ominous frown.

He lifted his gun with carefullest aim,
And said: “My fine fellow, your play's at an end.
The gods still are just: it's your turn to be game,
Who eat up the weak and the mighty befriend.”

But, when the gun missed, the hawk took his turn.
Said he, “Mr. Merchant, I've something to say:
I gobble up only what beak and claws earn;
And that is what you fellows do every day.”

The merchant reflected, and said: “I am wrong:
We'll make a new partnership here, you and I.
The small birds shall flutter when we come along;
Or, when they are caught, the feathers shall fly.”

And so it fell out that the hawk had a nest
In which he grew saucier every day;
And the parson remarked how “Providence blessed
The merchant's grand mansion out on the Back Bay.”

And over his counting-room door, in a frame,
The merchant had posted, where all men might see,
This motto in gilt, just under his name,—
“Honesty's ever the best policy.”