The KITE rose up. His honest heart
In VIRTUE’S suff’rings bore a part.
That there were birds of prey he knew;
So far the libeller said true,
“Voracious, bold, to rapine prone,
Who knew no int’rest but their own;
Who, hov’ring o’er the farmer’s yard,
Nor pigeon, chick, nor duckling spar’d.”
This might be true—but if apply’d
To him, in troth, the sland’rer ly’d.
Since IGN’RANCE then might be misled,
Such things, he thought, were best unsaid.

The CROW was vext. As yester-morn
He flew across the new-sown corn,
A screaming boy was set for pay,
He knew, to drive the CROWS away:
Scandal had found him out in turn,
And buzz’d abroad—that CROWS love corn.

The OWL arose, with solemn face,
And thus harangu’d upon the case:
‘That MAGPIES prate, it may be true;
A KITE may be voracious too;
Crows sometimes deal in new-sown pease;
He libels not, who strikes at these;
The slander’s here—“But there are birds,
Whose wisdom lies in looks, not words;
Blund’rers who level in the dark,
And always shoot beside the mark.”
He names not me; but these are hints
Which manifest at whom he squints;
I were indeed that blund’ring fowl,
To question if he meant an OWL.’
“Ye wretches, hence!” the EAGLE cries,
“’Tis conscience, conscience that applies;
The virtuous mind takes no alarm,
Secur’d by innocence from harm;
While GUILT, and his associate, FEAR,
Are startled at the passing air.”