# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/To a Goose

TO A GOOSE.
I cannot bear to hear thee slander'd, Goose! It irketh me to see the truant boys Pause in their play, and cast a stone at thee, And call thee foolish.  Do those worthies know That when old Rome had let the ruffian Gauls Tread on her threshold of vitality, And all her sentinels were comatose, Thy charion-call did save her? Mighty strange To call thee fool!  I think thou'rt dignified And portly in thy bearing, and in all The duties and proprieties of life Art quite a pattern. Yet the duck may quack, The turkey gabble, and the guinea-hen Keep up a piercing and perpetual scream, And all is well; but if thou ope thy beak, "Fie, silly creature!"  Yet I'm sure thou'st done Many a clever and obliging deed; And more than this, thou from thy wing dost spare An outcast feather, which hath woke the world, And made it wiser.  Yea, the modest quill Doth take its quiet stand behind the press, And, like a prompter, tell it what to say.
But yet we never praise the goose, who gave This precious gift. Yet what can fill its place? Think of the clumsy stylus, how absurd! I know, indeed, that smart metallic pens Have undertook to speculate at large, But I eschew them all, and prophesy Goose-quills will be immortal, as the art To which they minister. 'Twere meet for me, Though all beside were dumb, to fondly laud The instrument that from my childhood up Hath been my solace and my chosen friend In hours of loneliness.  I'd fain propose That, mid the poultry in the farmer's yard, The goose should wear a ducal coronet. But our republic would not authorize Aught like an order of nobility; And so I institute a simple claim For justice long withheld. I ask my peers, The erudite and learned in the law, Why the recusant owl is singled out As Wisdom's bird? If blind Mythology, Who on her fingers scarcely knew to count Her thirty thousand gods, should groping make Such error, 'tis not strange. But we, who skill To ride the steam, and have a goodly hope To ride the lightning too, need we be ruled By vacillating Delphos? or stand still To sanction her mistakes?  The aforesaid owl, With his dull, staring eyes, what hath he done To benefit mankind? Moping all day
Amid some dodder'd oak, and then at night, With hideous hooting and wild flapping wings, Scaring the innocent child. What hath he done To earn a penny, or to make the world Richer in any way? I doubt if he Even gets an honest living. Who can say Whether such midnight rambles, none know where, Are for his credit? Yet the priceless crown Of wisdom he in symbol and in song Unrighteously hath worn.  But times have changed, Most reverend owl! Utility bears rule, And the shrewd spirit of a busy age Dotes not on things antique, nor pays respect To hoary hairs, but counts it loss of time To honour whatsoever fails to yield A fat per centage. Yet thou'rt not ashamed To live a gentleman, nor bronze thy claw With manual labour, stupidly content To be a burden on community.
—Meantime, the worthy and hard-working goose Hath rear'd us goslings, fed us with her flesh, Lull'd us to sleep upon her softest down, And with her quills maintain'd the lover's lore, And saved the tinsel of the poet's brain. —Dear goose, thou'rt greatly wrong'd.  I move the owl Be straightway taken from the usurper's seat, And thou forthwith be voted for, to fill Minerva's arms.  The flourish of a pen
Hath saved or lost a realm, hath sign'd the bond That made the poor man rich—reft from the prince His confiscated wealth, and sent him forth A powerless exile—for the prisoner bade The sunbeam tremble through his iron bars The last, last time—or changed the cry of war To blessed peace.  And yet we scorn the bird Whose cast-off feather hath done this, and more.