Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 046.djvu/215

1839.] Politely asked him what the phrase meant; And, being told, discharged a volley Of laughter at the pedant's folly. Surprised and vex'd at this rebuff, The parrot answer'd, in a huff: "Thou art a Purist, I suspect, And I despise thy sober sect." The monkey, bowing to the bird, Replied, "I thank thee for the word: Though parrots may despise the same, It is an honourable name."

Too many authors intersperse, Affectedly, their prose or verse With Gallicisms, that defile Their native purity of style, And, like the parrot, labour thus To be, at best, ridiculous.

As once a linnet on a tree
 * Was piping like a lover's lute,

A swan exclaim'd, "All birds should be, When I am, nigh, entranced and mute; For none can hope to vie with me,
 * A vocalist of such repute!

"It heeds me not, but warbles still—
 * Was ever songster half so vain?

The creature, with its tiresome trill,
 * May thank its stars that I disdain

To open my melodious bill,
 * And pour an overpowering strain.

"For if, as poets truly tell,
 * My very death-notes are divine,

My voice, of course, when I am well,
 * Is still more exquisitely fine,

And I could readily excel
 * That simple song by one of mine."