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LESSONS FOR THE LITERATI. 



FROM THE X SPANISH OF YRIABTE. 



THE OWL AND THE LAMP. THE DOGS AND THE BONE- 



GRUBBER. 



SOME critics wait with prudent care, 

 Coward assassins that they are, 

 Until their hapless victim dies 

 Before against his fame they rise j 

 For living authors have a sting 

 Which they may use in answering. 



A tale which suits such persons well, 

 My good old grandam used to tell : 

 By chance an owl (I've heard her say) 

 Entered a convent-hall one day 

 I lie one day it could not be ; 

 No doubt, full many a degree 

 Had sunk the flaming charioteer 

 Below the western hemisphere. 

 Be that, however, false or true, 

 As through the passages she flew, 

 A lamp or lantern, I forget 

 Which 'twas, the bird of wisdom met; 

 And turning suddenly about, 

 To this effect she hooted out : 

 " Lamp ! with what ecstasies divine 

 Would I suck up that oil of thine, 

 Did not thy flame so fiercely rise, 

 And with its radiance blind my eyes. 

 But though I cannot dare just now 

 T' attack a light well-trimmed as thou, 

 If I some future day return, 

 When thou art out and cannot burn, 

 Boldly thy harmless wick I'll pull, 

 And have a sumptuous belly-full." 



Now, though the critics, whom I lash, 

 Resent my liberty, they gnash 

 Their literary teeth in vain, 

 Have at their worships once again ! 

 Here is a tale, with touches rife, 

 Which draw their portrait to the life. 

 A dealer, then, in bones and rags, 

 Was grubbing up, to fill his bags, 

 A dunghill, or some other place, 

 When two of Cerberus's race 

 Barked at him, as they always do 

 When fellows of his stamp they view. 

 " Leave the poor wretch," exclaimed their sire, 

 " He is too worthless for your ire ; 

 The mastiff dead he skins, but flees 

 Whene'er a living one he sees." 



