The Eagle and The Mole Over great forest regions flying, A splendid eagle sped, preceding far his mate.

They purposed on a mighty oak to wait, Until among the branches should be lying, Within a nest, a brood derived from mutual love.

There they would tend their fledglings through sweet days of summer.

Calls upward a fresh comer, Who views from earth the king above: "This ancient tree is hardly fitted for a dwelling; Through rotting roots, is insecure, Will topple: 'scape the woodman's felling." So utters, from a hole, a voice demure.

But, if a sovereign bird should take from a benighted And abject mole advice; who then would praise, In future days, Eagles keen-sighted?

How dared a mole reflect on higher beings' ways so drily?

The monarch sternly glanced, but nothing said, Would hear no little mole, returned to work, instead; Deftly prepared a future bed And rest for one he honoured highly.

And welcomed with her, soon, precocious eaglets wily.

What next? It happened once at dawn, That, to the nest, flew with a tiny fawn As a rich breakfast in his talons, the fond father.

The oak, as he alas! Must gather, Had, with a crash, both mate and young to earth down drawn.