The Bear and the Amateur Gardener

A certain mountain bear, unlick'd and rude, / By fate confined within a lonely wood, / A new Bellerophon,[1] whose life, / Knew neither comrade, friend, nor wife, -- / Became insane; for reason, as we term it, / Dwells never long with any hermit. / 'Tis good to mix in good society, / Obeying rules of due propriety; / And better yet to be alone; / But both are ills when overdone. / No animal had business where / All grimly dwelt our hermit bear; / Hence, bearish as he was, he grew / Heart-sick, and long'd for something new. / While he to sadness was addicted, / An aged man, not far from there, / Was by the same disease afflicted. / A garden was his favourite care, -- / Sweet Flora's priesthood, light and fair, / And eke Pomona's -- ripe and red / The presents that her fingers shed. / These two employments, true, are sweet / When made so by some friend discreet. / The gardens, gaily as they look, / Talk not, (except in this my book; ) / So, tiring of the deaf and dumb, / Our man one morning left his home / Some company to seek, / That had the power to speak. -- / The bear, with thoughts the same, / Down from his mountain came; / And in a solitary place, / They met each other, face to face. / It would have made the boldest tremble; / What did our man? To play the Gascon / The safest seem'd. He put the mask on, / His fear contriving to dissemble. / The bear, unused to compliment, / Growl'd bluntly, but with good intent, / 'Come home with me. ' The man replied: / 'Sir Bear, my lodgings, nearer by, / In yonder garden you may spy, / Where, if you'll honour me the while, / We'll break our fast in rural style. / I've fruits and milk, -- unworthy fare, / It may be, for a wealthy bear; / But then I offer what I have. ' / The bear accepts, with visage grave, / But not unpleased; and on their way, / They grow familiar, friendly, gay. / Arrived, you see them, side by side, / As if their friendship had been tried. / To a companion so absurd, / Blank solitude were well preferr'd, / Yet, as the bear scarce spoke a word, / The man was left quite at his leisure / To trim his garden at his pleasure. / Sir Bruin hunted -- always brought / His friend whatever game he caught; / But chiefly aim'd at driving flies -- / Those hold and shameless parasites, / That vex us with their ceaseless bites -- / From off our gardener's face and eyes. / One day, while, stretch'd upon the ground / The old man lay, in sleep profound, / A fly that buzz'd around his nose, -- / And bit it sometimes, I suppose, -- / Put Bruin sadly to his trumps. / At last, determined, up he jumps; / 'I'll stop thy noisy buzzing now,' / Says he; 'I know precisely how. ' / No sooner said than done. / He seized a paving-stone; / And by his modus operandi / Did both the fly and man die.

[1]: _Bellerophon_. -- The son of King Glaucus, who, after a wandering life, died a prey to melancholy.