The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute,
And lay for a moment abashed and mute: 
She never before had been so near
This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere;
And she felt for a time at loss to know
How to answer a thing so coarse and low. 
But to give reproof of a nobler sort
Than the angry look, or the keen retort,
At length she said, in a gentle tone,
“Since it has happened that I am thrown,
From the lighter element where I grew,
Down to another, so hard and new,
And beside a personage so august,
Abased, I’ll cover my head with dust,
And quick retire from the sight of one
Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun,
Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel
Has ever subdued, or made to feel!”
And soon in the earth she sank away
From the cheerless spot where the Pebble lay.

But ’twas not long ere the soil was broke
By the jeering head of an infant oak! 
As it arose, and its branches spread,
The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said,
“Ah, modest Acorn! never to tell
What was enclosed in its simple shell;—­
That the pride of the forest was folded up
In the narrow space of its little cup!—­
And meekly to sink in the darksome earth,
Which proves that nothing could hide her worth! 
And O, how many will tread on me,
To come and admire the beautiful tree,
Whose head is towering towards the sky,
Above such a worthless thing as I! 
Useless and vain, a cumberer here,
Have I been idling from year to year. 
But never, from this, shall a vaunting word
From the humbled Pebble again be heard,
Till something without me or within
Shall show the purpose for which I’ve been!”
The Pebble could ne’er its vow forget,
And it lies there wrapt in silence yet.

=The Grasshopper and the Ant=

“Ant, look at me!” a young grasshopper said,
As nimbly he sprang from his green, summer-bed,
“See how I’m going to skip over your head,
  And could o’er a thousand like you! 
Ant, by your motion alone, I should judge
That Nature ordained you a slave and a drudge,
For ever and ever to keep on the trudge,
  And always find something to do.

“Oh! there is nothing like having our day—­
Taking our pleasure and ease while we may—­
Bathing ourselves in the bright, mellow ray
  That comes from the warm, golden sun! 
Whilst I am up in the light and the air,
You, a sad picture of labor and care,
Still have some hard, heavy burden to bear,
  And work that you never get done.

“I have an exercise healthful and good,
For tuning the nerves and digesting the food—­
Graceful gymnastics for stirring the blood
  Without the gross purpose of use
Ant, let me tell you ’tis not a la mode
To plod like a pilgrim, and carry a load,
Perverting the limbs that for grace were bestowed,
  By such a plebeian abuse!