Fable IV. the Mountain and Cloud

A Mountain, which might justly vie With ATLAS to support the sky, For ages had, with boundless pride, O'erlook'd the plains on either side; And thought, from his prodigious birth, He ought to rule their humbler earth; Tho' grac'd with corn, and fruit, and flocks, In contrast to his barren rocks, On which, instead of ought that grows, Hung tempests dark, and endless snows.

One sullen care—his folly's doom— Still rankled in his flinty womb: That while the radiant source of day, Beam'd o'er the vales with kindly ray, An envious cloud, eclipsing light, Wrapp'd his majestic head in night.

Impatient of suppos'd disgrace, And fond to show his hideous face, Like some amongst the human kind, To all their grossest failings blind, Who self-sufficiently reveal What prudence wisely would conceal; He thunder'd forth his plaint aloud Against the dark impending cloud.

How long, foul vapour, wilt thou dare To shroud my brows, and taint my air? Shall I, who raging tempests sconr, Tho' on the wings of light'ning borne; Shall I, whose strength can never fail, Tho' ev'n a deluge should assail, Be thus obscur'd?—vile cloud, away! And give me to the eye of day. Stung with this insolent address The CLOUD replied—I must confess, Gigantic neighbour, what you speak, Declares that you, tho' great, are weak; What worth or beauty canst thou show, That's equal to the plains below? What lab'ring oxen till thy soil? What harvests pay the peasants toil? What fruits, what herbage grace thy sides? What useful river o'er thee glides? What forests nod upon thy brows, Ne'er ruffled by industrious ploughs? Why, steril mass of rugged stone, With skin of thriftless moss o'ergrown, Shouldst thou proclaim thy giant size, As if from thence desert could rise, Or make objections to my shade, Suspended o'er thy tow'ring head, Without reflecting 'tis the fate Attending on superior state, To have or me, or some such other, Perhaps a tempest-breeding brother, Around by way of caution glide, To check the swell of monst'rous pride? While humble, and contented plains, An emblem of their village swains, With justice claim, in being less, A larger share of happiness In their obscure, un-envied station, Than in thy cloud topt exaltation; Which, 'spite of all the strength you boast, In sudden ruin may be lost.

Thus spake the CLOUD, as if inspir'd, And with a passing gale retir'd; When straight a subterraneous sound, Like distant thunder, bellow'd round; The MOUNTAIN felt convulsive pain, And trembling shook thro' ev'ry vein.