The Two Thrushes

: Literary Fables Of Yriarte

A Thrush, with years grown gray,

And wise as well as old,

His grandson asked one day,--

An unpractised youth and bold,--

With him to go straightway,

Their morning flight to hold,

Where a well-stocked vineyard lay--

On its luscious fruit to prey.



"Where may this vineyard be?"--

The youngling answered coy,--

"And what ruit is there?"--"We'll see.

Learn how to live, my boy,"

Said the grandsire. "Come with me,

And a banquet rich enjoy."

As he spoke the words, he shew

Where thick the clusters grew.



The pert young pilferer saw;--

"Is this the fruit you puff?

Who would think you were so raw?

What puny, withered stuff!

Pooh! It isn't worth a straw.

Now, bigger fruit enough,

And better far than any here

I know of, in a garden near.



A single grape, I'll swear,

Will prove better than it all.

But we'll make a trial fair,"

When they reach the garden wall,

The fledgling shouts--"Look there--

How big and nice! I call

That fruit, indeed--no trash."

Reader, it was a yellow calabash.



* * * * *



It may not much surprise

That young birds by chaff are caught;

But that, by men reputed wise,

Books should, for bulk, be bought,

And valued for their size,

Is stranger, is it not?

If a good work, 'tis great of course;

If bad, the more there is the worse.