Page:Panchatantra.djvu/142

Rh The bees that, too adventurous,
 * A novel honey seek

In springtime ichor glistening on
 * The elephant-monarch's cheek,

When, tossed by wind from flapping ears,
 * They tumble to the ground,

Remember then what gentle sport
 * In lotus-cups is found.

Yet, after all, virtues involve corresponding defects. For

The fruit-tree's branch by very wealth
 * Of fruit is bended low;

The peacock's feathered pride compels
 * A sluggish gait and slow;

The blooded horse that wins his race,
 * Must like a cow be led:

The good in goodness often find
 * An enemy to dread.

Where Jumna's waves roll blue With sands of sapphire hue, Black serpents have their lair; And who would hunt them there, But that a jewel's bright star From each hood gleams afar? By virtue rising, all By that same virtue fall.

The man of virtue commonly
 * Is hateful to the king,

While riches to the scamps and fools
 * Habitually cling:

The ancient chant 'By virtue great
 * Is man' has run to seed;

The world takes rare and little note
 * Of any plucky deed.