Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE BOAR AND THE SINGING BIRD, by JEAN PIERRE CLARIS DE FLORIAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BOAR AND THE SINGING BIRD, by                    
First Line: A millionaire of much pretence
Last Line: "deems his own merit the attraction."
Subject(s): Pigs; Vanity; Wealth; Boars; Hogs; Riches; Fortunes


A MILLIONAIRE of much pretence,
Of great conceit, and little sense—
For ignorance, as oft we see,
Walks hand in hand with vanity—
A savant in his own esteem,
In every art a judge supreme,
Of genius gold he thought the test,
And wealth with taste and talent blest.

Assembled round his table sit
Men fam'd for science and for wit.
No artist could his sketch complete
Till he had laid it at his feet;
No sculptor could a Venus cast
Till compass he had o'er it pass'd;
The architect his plans outspread;
The author there his poem read.

Their voices they in chorus raise
His judgment and his taste to praise;
And while he feasts them, one and all
Their patron a Mæcenas call.

One noon, as, 'neath the forest spray,
He rambled in the month of May,
A Woodman his attendant guide,
Whose head with brains was well supplied;
Behold! a boar, who now with toil
Of snout upturn'd the forest soil,
Now deep in earth was seen to wedge
His tusk, to give it keener edge;
Around him, fluttering as he plough'd,
The wood-birds carroll'd sweet and loud;
From forest-tree, from hawthorn-bush,
Came linnet, nightingale, and thrush;
Where'er he roam'd the tuneful throng
Pursued him with unceasing song.
The brute, a connoisseur profound
In music, listen'd to the sound,
Now raised his head, as if to tell
The birds he liked their voices well,
Now shook it in disapprobation
While he resumed his occupation.
"They choose," said Dives, "much amiss,
An animal so gross as this;
Their music and themselves they wrong
To make this brute a judge of song."
"Excuse me," said the Woodman, "they
But show the tact which men display;
The soil upturn'd, his grovelling snout
Brings many a dainty morsel out;
'Tis that which tunes their hungry throats,
And prompts the music of their notes;
The labour of his tusk they need
Fresh worms to find on which they feed,
The brute, with much self-satisfaction
Deems his own merit the attraction."





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