The Philosopher and the Pheasants

Moral: No Moral. Suggest us a moral of this fable in comment section.
A sage awakened by the dawn,
By music of the groves was drawn
From tree to tree: responsive notes
Arose from many warbling throats.
As he advanced, the warblers ceased;
Silent the bird and scared the beast—
The nightingale then ceased her lay,
And the scared leveret ran away.
The sage then pondered, and his eye
Roamed round to learn the reason why.
He marked a pheasant, as she stood
Upon a bank, above her brood;
With pride maternal beat her breast
As she harangued and led from nest:
“Play on, my infant brood—this glen
Is free from bad marauding men.
O trust the hawk, and trust the kite,
Sooner than man—detested wight!
Ingratitude sticks to his mind,—
A vice inherent to the kind.
The sheep, that clothes him with her wool,
Dies at the shambles—butcher’s school;
The honey−bees with waxen combs
Are slain by hives and hecatombs;
And the sagacious goose, who gives
The plume whereby he writes and lives,
And as a guerdon for its use
He cuts the quill and eats the goose.
Avoid the monster: where he roams
He desolates our raided homes;
And where such acts and deeds are boasted,
I hear we pheasants all are roasted.”

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