Piqued at the Linnet's song one day,
The Swan exclaimed: "Leave off! I say--
Be still, you little noisy thing!
What!--dare _you_ challenge me to sing,
When there's no voice, however fine,
Can match the melody of mine?"
(The Linnet warbled on)--"D'ye hear?
This impudence may cost you dear;
I could with one harmonious note
Forever stop your squeaking throat,
And, if I do not choose to try,
Respect my magnanimity."
"I wish," at length the Linnet said,
"I wish, to heaven, the proof were made;
You cannot imagine how I long
To hear that rich and flowing song
Which though so sweet, by fame averred,
I know not who has ever heard."
The Swan essayed to sing, but--whew!
She screeched and squalled a note or two,
Until the Linnet, it appears,
Took to her wings to save her ears.
'Tis strange when some of learned fame
_Will_ prove their title to the name,
How often ill-placed praise they mar,
And show how ignorant they are.