The Poetry Corner

Owl And Farmer.

By John Gay

An owl took, in a barn, a station As fittest for deep contemplation; There (like a Turk) upon a beam He sat, as Turks sit in hareem. So smokers, at the Magpie met, Peruse the 'Post-boy' or 'Gazette;' And thence foretell, in wise and sure hope, The future destinies of Europe. The farmer comes to see his sheaves. The owl his silent soul relieves; "Reason in man is sheer pretence, Would he - were he endowed with sense - Treat owls with scorning? He can praise The birds that twitter on the sprays: Linnets, and larks, and nightingales, Yet in the nobler owl he fails. Should I, by daylight, view my reign, Those birds would cluster in my train; Why do they pounce upon the wing, Save that they see and own their king?" "Pshaw!" said the farmer: "lump of pride! They only follow to deride; Your scream affrights the evening hour, When nightingales enchant the bower. Why all on earth - man, beast, and fowl - Know you for what you are - an owl. You and your train! 'midst Nature's rules, Fools in derision follow fools!"