The Duck and the Serpent
A self-conceited Duck, one day,
Was waddling from her pond away:
“What other race can boast,” she cried,
“The many gifts to ours allied?
Earth—water—air—are all for us.
When I am tired of walking thus,
I fly, if so I take the whim,
Or if it pleases me I swim.”
A cunning Serpent overheard
The boasting of the clumsy bird,
And, with contempt and scorn inflamed,
Came hissing up, and thus exclaimed:
“It strikes me, ma’am, there’s small occasion
For your just uttered proclamation;
These gifts of yours shine rather dim,
Since neither like the trout you swim,
Nor like the deer, step swift and light,
Nor match the eagle in your flight.”
They err who think that merit clings
To knowledge slight of many things;
He who his fellows would excel,
Whate’er he does should do it well.