Читать книгу Poems - John L. Stoddard - Страница 9

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Within a home for captive beasts

Whose world had dwindled to a cage,

I noted in their mournful eyes

Such resignation, fear, and rage,

I longed at once to set them free,

And send them over land and sea

To live again in liberty.

For them no more the mountain range,

The desert vast, the jungle's lair!

Their meaner fate through grated bars

To feel the public's hateful stare;

Poor prisoners! doomed henceforth to pace

With stinted strides a narrow space,

And, daily, gaping crowds to face.

At length I stood before a cage,

Where, guarded by a loftier screen,

Were artificial rocks, and pools,

And strips of vegetation green;

There, perched upon some rocky mound,

Or crouching on the miry ground,

A flock of waterfowl I found.

Storks, poised upon a single leg,

Stood dreaming of the eternal Nile—

The Mecca of their winter flight,

When lured by Egypt's sunny smile;

While ducks and geese, in gabbling mood,

Explored the muddy pond for food,

Attended by their noisy brood.

Their keeper brought their evening meal;

And instantly on broad-webbed feet,

And stilt-like legs, and flapping wings,

The feathered bipeds rushed to greet,

With snaps and cluckings of delight,

The joyful, ever-welcome sight

Of supper at the approach of night.

Yet all came not! Two stood apart,

With plumage like fresh-fallen snow—

Two "Silver Herons," of a race

As pure and fine as earth can show;

Amid the tumult that was rife,

These loathed the others' greedy strife,

And looked disgusted with their life.

With closed eyes, shrinking from the mass,

They seemed, in thought, removed as far

From all their coarse environment

As sun is separate from star!

The very picture of disdain,

From all such gorging, it was plain,

They had determined to refrain.

The keeper murmured with reproach—

"Those Silver Herons are too proud!

Why should they not partake of food

Together with the common crowd?

They eat a little from my hand,

But would prefer to starve, than stand

Besmeared by that uncleanly band.

"A month hence, neither will be here;

For both will grieve themselves to death;

And when one falls, its mate expires

With scarcely an additional breath;

And, should there come another pair,

In their turn they the fate will share

Of those two herons standing there."

Poor hapless birds! I see them yet,

Alone and starving in their pride—

Their glittering plumage still intact,

While standing bravely side by side;

And, although put to hunger's test,

Continuing mutely to protest

Against defilement with the rest.

O Silver Herons, teach mankind

To cherish thus a stainless name!

To shun the vile, ignoble crowd,

Preferring death to smirch and shame!

A foul, unfriendly mob to brave,

And go, unspotted, to the grave,

Is not to lose one's life, but save.