For their ancientness and glorious charms! 
  The innocent Forest lent him arms;
  But bitter indeed was her regret;
  For the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet,
  Did nought but his benefactress spoil
  Of the finest trees that graced her soil;
  And ceaselessly was she made to groan,
  Doing penance for that fatal loan.

  Behold the world-stage and its actors,
  Where benefits hurt benefactors! 
    A weary theme, and full of pain;
  For where’s the shade so cool and sweet,
  Protecting strangers from the heat,
    But might of such a wrong complain? 
      Alas!  I vex myself in vain;
      Ingratitude, do what I will,
      Is sure to be the fashion still.

  The Shepherd and the Lion

  The Fable Aesop tells is nearly this: 
  A Shepherd from his flock began to miss,
  And long’d to catch the stealer of his sheep. 
      Before a cavern, dark and deep,
      Where wolves retired by day to sleep,
      Which he suspected as the thieves,
      He set his trap among the leaves;
      And, ere he left the place,
      He thus invoked celestial grace: 
      “O king of all the powers divine,
  Against the rogue but grant me this delight,
  That this my trap may catch him in my sight,
      And I, from twenty calves of mine,
      Will make the fattest thine.” 
    But while the words were on his tongue,
    Forth came a Lion great and strong. 
    Down crouch’d the man of sheep, and said. 
    With shivering fright half dead,
  “Alas! that man should never be aware
  Of what may be the meaning of his prayer! 
      To catch the robber of my flocks,
    O king of gods, I pledged a calf to thee: 
    If from his clutches thou wilt rescue me,
      I’ll raise my offering to an ox.”

  The Animals Sick of the Plague

  The sorest ill that Heaven hath
  Sent on this lower world in wrath—­
  The Plague (to call it by its name)
      One single day of which
      Would Pluto’s ferryman enrich—­
  Waged war on beasts, both wild and tame. 
  They died not all, but all were sick: 
  No hunting now, by force or trick,
  To save what might so soon expire,
  No food excited their desire;
  Nor wolf nor fox now watch’d to slay
  The innocent and tender prey. 
          The turtles fled;
  So love and therefore joy were dead. 
  The Lion council held, and said: 
  “My friends, I do believe
  This awful scourge, for which we grieve,
  Is for our sins a punishment
  Most righteously by Heaven sent. 
  Let us our guiltiest beast resign,
  A sacrifice to wrath divine. 
  Perhaps this offering, truly small,
  May gain me life and health of all. 
  By history we find it noted
  That lives have been just so devoted. 
  Then let us all turn eyes within,