The Stag at the Fountain

FULL often what you now despise Proves better than the things you prize; Let Esop's narrative decide: A Stag beheld, with conscious pride, (As at the fountain-head he stood) His image in the silver flood, And there extols his branching horns, While his poor spindle-shanks he scorns- But, lo! he hears the hunter's cries, And, frightened, o'er the champaign flies-- His swiftness baffles the pursuit: At length a wood receives the brute, And by his horns entangled there, The pack began his flesh to tear: Then dying thus he wail'd his fate: "Unhappy me! and wise too late! How useful what I did disdain! How grievous that which made me vain!