The Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg Page #2

								

That all their minds corporeal are;
That building houses, making war,
They are but agents, weak and blind,
Of some mere watchspring in the mind.
The object which their sense attacks,
Returning, fills its former tracks,
And straightway, in their bestial pates,
The image seen before creates,
Without that thought, or sense, or soul
Have o'er the thing the least control.
But men a different station fill,
And, scorning instinct, use their will.
I speak, I walk, and feel within
Something to God-like power akin.
Distinct from all my flesh and bone,
It lives a life that's all its own,
Yet o'er my flesh it rules alone.
But how can soul be understood
By what is merely flesh and blood?
There lies the point. The tool by hand is guided;
Who guides the hand has not yet been decided.
Ah! what is that strange power which wings
The planets on their heavenly way?
Doth each some angel lord obey?
And are my spirit's secret springs
Moved and controlled the selfsame way?
My soul obeys some influence;
I know not what it is, nor whence.
That secret must for ever lie
Hid by God's awful majesty.
Descartes knew just as much as I:
In other things he may supplant
All men; he's here as ignorant.
But, Iris, this, at least, I know,--
That no such lofty souls endow
The beasts of whom I've made example:--
Of soul, man only is the temple.
Yet must we to the beasts accord
Some sense the plant-world can't afford;
And even plants have humble lives.
But let me add one story still;
And let me know how much your skill
Of moral from its facts derives.

Two Rats, seeking something to eat, found an Egg:
For such folks, to have something to eat is sufficient;
And seldom or never you'll find that they beg
Of the gods turtle soup, or a French cook proficient.
Full of appetite, nimbly they sat down to eat,
And soon from the shell would have drawn out the meat,
When a Fox in the distance appeared, to molest them,
And a question arose, which most greatly distress'd them,--
No other, as you may suppose, but the way
The Egg from Sir Reynard's keen snout to convey.
To drag it behind them, or roll it on floor,
To pack it behind them, or shove it before,
Were the plans tried in turn, but were all tried in vain.
When at length the old mother of arts[1] made it plain
That, if one on his back held the Egg in his paw,
The other from danger could readily draw.
The plan was successful, in spite of some jolting;
And we leave the two sages their pleasant meal bolting.

    Who shall, after this, declare
    That beasts devoid of reason are?
    For my part, I'll to beasts allow
    The sense that dwells in childhood's brow.
    Reason, from childhood's earliest years,
    In all its acts and ways appears;
    And so it seems to me quite plain
    That without soul there may be brain.
    I give to beasts a sort of mind,
    Compared to ours, a league behind.
    Some matter I would subtilise,
    Some matter hard to analyse,
    Some atoms essence, light's extract;
    Fire, subtlest of all things; in fact,
								Rate this book:
0.0 / 0 votes