The dove then brought a bonfire's sole
Surviving ember—one live coal,
And where a pile of dry leaves lay,
He kindled it to fire straightway.
"Now, sir, take heart; forgetting fear,
Resuscitate your members here;
Alas! I cannot put to flight
The cravings of your appetite.
"One patron feeds a thousand men;
One feeds a hundred; one feeds ten.
But I, whose virtue does not thrive,
Scarce keep my puny self alive.
"Ah, if you have not in your nest
Provision for a single guest,
Why occupy today, tomorrow
A nest that harbors naught but sorrow?
"I shall destroy my body, fain
To end its living with its pain,
That nevermore I stand confessed
Powerless to aid a needy guest."
And thus he blamed himself, you see;
The greedy fowler went scot-free:
Then—"I may yet your craving sate,
If one mere moment you will wait."
Whereat that creature free from sin,
Joy-quivering his soul within,
Walked round the fire, as it had been
His cherished home, and entered in.
When this the greedy fowler saw,
Compassion filled his soul, and awe.
Page:Panchatantra.djvu/347
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338
THE PANCHATANTRA