As specks appear on fields of snow,
So blemishes on beauty show.
A peacock fed in a farm-yard
Where all the poultry eyed him hard--
They looked on him with evil eye,
And mocked his sumptuous pageantry:
Proud of the glories he inherited,
He sought the praises they well merited.
Then, to surprise their dazzled sight,
He spread his glories to the light.
His glories spread, no sooner seen
Than rose their malice and their spleen.
"Behold his insolence and pride--
His haughtiness!" the turkey cried.
"He trusts in feathers; but within
They serve to hide his negro skin."
"What hideous legs!" exclaimed the goose;
"The tail to hide them were of use.
And hearken to his voice: it howls
Enough to frighten midnight owls."
"Yes, they are blemishes, I own,"
Replied the peacock; "harsh the tone
Is of my voice--no symmetry
In my poor legs; yet had your eye
Been pleased to mark my radiant train,
You might have spared detraction's vein.
For if these shanks which you traduce
Belonged to turkey or to goose,
Or had the voice still harsher been,
They had not been remarked or seen;
But Envy, unto beauties blind,
Seeks blemishes to soothe her mind."
So have we, in the midnight scene,
Seen purity with face serene
Awake the clamour of detraction
From jaundiced Envy's yellow faction.