IN Aesop's days, when trees cou'd speak,
And talk in Hebrew, Latin, Greek,
An elm and vine, by chance near neighbours,
Tho' separate, each pursu'd their labours;
The vine, with native sweetness fraught,
For man prepar'd the chearing draught;
Her tendrils curl'd along the plain,
And ruddy clusters swell'd amain.
The tow'ring elm could little boast,
But leaves — a barren shade at most;
Save when by woodman's sturdy stroke
Cut down to make a chair, or spoke;
Yet tho' but small his claim to merit,
Not wholly void of sense or spirit,
His neighbour's worth he view'd with smiles,
And long'd to share her useful toils.
For, "O! said he, were we but one,
"Sure bliss would enter here alone;
"For I by you encircled high,
"Should scorn the oak's proud majesty,
"While your rich fruit time might mature
"From storms and savage beasts secure;
"Our mutual help would soothe our care,
"And heav'n approve the happy pair. "