And, taking fearlessly a bound,
He tumbled headlong on the ground,
With compound fracture of the shin,
And six or seven ribs crushed in.
"Unhappy youth!" the Master said,
"What was your truest help and aid
Impediment you thought to be—
For art and method if you flee,
Believe me, ere your life is past,
This tumble will not be your last."The Squirrel and the Horse
A Squirrel, on his hind legs raised,
Upon a noble Charger gazed,
Who docile to the spur and rein,
Went through his menage on the plain;
Now seeming like the wind to fly,
Now gracefully curvetting by.
"Good Sir," the little Tumbler said,
And with much coolness, scratched his head,
"In all your swiftness, skill and spirit,
I do not see there's much of merit,
For, all you seem so proud to do,
I can perform, and better too;
I'm light and nimble, brisk and sprightly,
I trot, and skip, and canter lightly,
Backward and forward—here and there,
Now on the earth—now in the air—
From bough to bough—from hill to hill,
And never for a moment still."
The Courser tossed his head on high;
And made the Squirrel this reply:
"My little nimble jealous friend,
Those turns and tumbles without end—
That hither, thither, restless springing—