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THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE PIG.
A FABLE.
Once on a time, so goes the tale,
Within a little peaceful vale,
There lived a pig of some renown,
Much polished, though not near a town;
Full of himself as pig could be,
Aspiring, but a debaucheé.
And when quite young was fain to vaunt
Of brilliant parts, as pigs are wont;
He every morning swilled his hide,
And in appearance took much pride.
Then o'er the fields and meadows round,
With stately step and look profound,
He'd wander forth and crop the flowers,
Enjoy the sunbeams and the showers.
So pass the day 'till evening close,
Then on the softest grass repose.
Within a little peaceful vale,
There lived a pig of some renown,
Much polished, though not near a town;
Full of himself as pig could be,
Aspiring, but a debaucheé.
And when quite young was fain to vaunt
Of brilliant parts, as pigs are wont;
He every morning swilled his hide,
And in appearance took much pride.
Then o'er the fields and meadows round,
With stately step and look profound,
He'd wander forth and crop the flowers,
Enjoy the sunbeams and the showers.
So pass the day 'till evening close,
Then on the softest grass repose.
It chanced one gentle summer's night,
When earth was dressed in silver light,
And stars were glittering in the sky,
And softest breezes fluttered by,
A nightingale, with dulcet sound,
Awoke the slumbering echoes round;
And as the soft hours rolled along,
Poured forth her sweet melodious song;
The pig, in sentimental mind,
To love and listen felt inclined;
When earth was dressed in silver light,
And stars were glittering in the sky,
And softest breezes fluttered by,
A nightingale, with dulcet sound,
Awoke the slumbering echoes round;
And as the soft hours rolled along,
Poured forth her sweet melodious song;
The pig, in sentimental mind,
To love and listen felt inclined;
