THE FOX AND THE CROW

THE FOX AND THE CROW

A young crow stole, one summer's day,

A meaty morsel of tasty cheese.

At once he rose and flew away

To eat his prize in peace and ease."

In his strong beak he bore it high
And perched upon a tall, dead tree,

A hungry fox was slinking by;

He stopped and gazed up craftily.

"If I, " he thought, "play my cards right,

I shall enjoy some meat for free."

He kept the crow fixed in his sight

And crept up slowly to the tree.

"Oh, crow," he called to him on high,

"How splendid your black wings appear

Against the blue of this bright sky.

Your eyes see far and are so clear."

"Your breast, it is an eagle's breast,

Your claws, I mean, your talons, sir,

Are tough as tempered steel. Your dress

Of feathers is finer by far than fur."

"Your beak is as a sword of steel!

Your bearing's better than the best!

And all in all, one can but feel

Your glossy tail just fits the rest!"

"Yes, over all, one can but say

You are a most brave and graceful creature:

A ruler of the air by day,

A flying king in every feature."

The crow was pleased to hear these things

And gave the fox a friendly gaze,

And wagged his tail and flapped his wings

With pleasure at this sudden praise.

"Oh, crow," the sly fox called once more,

"What a pity that the king of birds

Should lack a voice to call and caw,

And should be silent, want for words."

"I've yet to hear your fair throat ringing,

But I am sure that it must be

Much better than all other singing

For sweetly moving melody."

"A bird who has such strength and grace

Must have a voice to match. What's wrong

That you don't fill this airy space

With the power of your joyful song?"

At this the crow's heart pulsed with pride,

For often, in the past, he'd found

That he had had his voice described

As a hollow, harsh, unmusical sound.

And so to please the fox below

With his rare voice, both loud and raw,

The proud and pompous, foolish crow

Called mightily, "Ark, ark; caw, caw!"

But as his black beak opened there,

The tasty cheese slipped from his grip,

And tumbled downwards through the air,

The fox beneath was watching it.

Before it touched the dusty ground,

His waiting jaws snapped up the prize,

The cheese went down with a munching sound;

He finished it on the crow's last cries.

The fox looked up and said at length,

"I loved what came out from your beak.

I praised your beauty and your strength;

About your brains I did not speak."

The crow looked down, sad was his gaze,

For he has been too slow to see

The difference between real praise

And false and cunning flattery.