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My waking dreams are best conceal d ; Much folly, little good they yield ; But now and then I gain, when sleeping, A friendly hint, that s worth the keeping ; Lately I dream d of one who cried, &quot; Beware of self, beware of pride ; When you are prone to build a Babel, Recall to mind this little fable.&quot;

ONCE on a time a paper kite Was mounted to a wondrous height, Where, giddy with its elevation, It thus express d self-admiration : &quot;See how yon crowds of gazing people Admire my flight above the steeple ; How would they wonder if they knew All that a kite like me can do ? Were I but free, I d take a flight, And pierce the clouds beyond their sight But, ah ! like a poor pris ner bound, My string confines me near the ground : I d brave the eagle s towering wing Might I but fly without a string.&quot; It tugg d and pull d, while thus it spoke, To break the string at last it broke. Deprived at once of all its stay, In vain it tried to soar away ; Unable its own weight to bear, It flutter d downward through the air; Unable its own course to guide, The winds soon plunged it in the tide.