The Beavers: a Fable

Once on a time, how long ago
Perhaps chronologists may know,
On a wide lake, far north and cold,
A race of beavers kept their hold;
Their island cabbins duly stor'd,
And feasted at a plenteous board.
To industry and labour bred,
Mean-while they toil'd, as well as fed;
Nor waited their decreasing store
To fail, ere provident of more.
Continual plenty, hence, by stealth,
Grew up to luxury and wealth;
When now, alas! in evil hour,
To wealth succeeds the thirst of power;
No longer satisfied to reign
Sole masters of the wat'ry main,
To see the trembling otter fly,
Hereditary Enemy,
Condemn'd, tho starving on the shore,
To trespass on the lake no more:
Contented not that nature gave
The spoils and triumphs of the wave;
But, vainly fond to shew their might,
Or turn out champions for the right,
They interfere in all disputes
Between the continental brutes,
And, parties in their feuds to make,
Their island tenements forsake;
Transporting madly brutes and stores,
Blind war to wage on foreign shores,
And save, from otters, bears and cats,
Land-beavers vile or worthless rats.
Mean-while, at home, is various ways
Their wealth's consum'd, their strength decays;
Recruits and payment of allies
Demand exorbitant supplies;
While e'en by battles, fought and gain'd,
Their little state is only drain'd,

Sagacious creatures shall we call
The brutes that squander thus their all?
Or shall we not their wit deride,
Who thus expose their weakest side?

But time and circumstance you say,
May change the face of things,—They may:
Yet neither, sure, can change the nature,
Of brutal more than human creature!
And yet, as if some revolution
Had happen'd in his constitution,
Thus, oft the beaver leaves his home,
On mountain wilds, for wars, to roam;
Unnatural wars! to him at least,
Amphibious, moisture-loving beast!
In which, a generous jack, with pride,
He always takes the weakest side,
And hires the poor, at his expence;
To stand up in their own defence;
While ten to one, he trusts the gods,
To him are even trifling odds:
As if, to win, his surest way
Was still to choose the losing play,
Or loggerheads he took delight in,
And fought but for the sake of fighting.

Yet beavers are accounted wise,
And need no burthensome allies;
Their hold in liquid walls immur'd,
From danger and assaults secur'd,

Alas, dame nature surely meant
Each creature for its element:
If birds will dive and fishes fly,
What wonder if they droop and die!
Now so it happ'd, as poets sing,
A land-rat was the beavers' king:
By all belov'd, without dispute,
A just, humane, and honest brute;
Who, yet, throughout his gracious reign
Too highly priz'd his old domain;
Too poor, too weak, without allies
To stand amidst its enemies;
And therefore at their own expence
The beavers purchas'd its defence;
Or when by chance of war 'twas lost
Redeem'd it always at their cost;
Bribing the tygers, bears and cats,
With subsidies to spare the rats;
And keeping, in their constant pay,
The ban-dogs, not to prowl that way.

Now on a day it so fell out,
The landed brutes began their rout;
A cat, of cat-a-mountain race,
Spit in the lordly tyger's face;
And, aided by a wild she-bear,
In pieces vow'd his limbs to tear,
The tyger bravely bid defiance,
And claim'd the beaver-king's alliance.
Mean-while the otters join'd the cats,
And wreak'd their vengeance on the rats;
A vengeance they were urg'd to take,
For what they suffer'd on the lake;
Where now their fishing haunts were gone,
And holds all ruin'd one by one;
And not an otter dar'd to dive;
Or, daring, reach'd the shore alive.
So powerful were the beavers grown,
While conquest made the lake their own!
Vain conquest! if constrain'd, at last,
To sully all their glory past,
By giving back each dear-bought prize,
To save their poor or weak allies;
Who now, by numerous foes enthrall'd,
Aloud for their assistance call'd;
The beavers readily consenting
To do what, done, they're sure repenting.
And yet, alas! 'twas all in vain,
The patriots ventur'd to complain:
'Twas all in vain to represent
The stores immense they yearly spent,
How much they ow'd, and, to their sorrow,
How much they still were forc'd to borrow:
In vain they shew'd the end they sought,
When 'gainst the otters first they fought,
By almost ev'ry battle gain'd,
At length compleatly was obtain'd;
And therefore, having got their end,
They need no longer to contend;
But standing on their own defence,
Might now contract the war's expence;
And, would the foe accept of peace,
Exact a general release;
Or, sparing thus their blood and treasure,
Might leave him to make peace at leisure.

Remonstrance just! but 'twas in vain;
Success had turn'd each beaver's brain;
The tyger's martial fame and fire
Did all their heated breasts inspire;
And every honest, plodding, beaver,
Seiz'd with a military fever,
Careless of what was done, or doing,
Ran, fighting-mad, the road to ruin.
Nay ev'n the chief, who, once, more loud
Than any of the patriot crowd,
Roar'd out his insolent reflections
On the great rat and his connections;
A ministerial beaver grown,
Now bow'd obedient to the throne;
And, worse than either of the Brothers,
Adopted measures, damn'd in others;
Measures himself condemn'd so late,
As big with ruin to the state!
Yet now he swallow'd all th' objections
He made before to land connections.
"The tyger's call, the rat's distress,
"Demanded instantly redress;
"And generous brutes should sacrifice
"Themselves, their all, for their allies."
How much unlike this specious cant
To all his former, noisy, rant!
To that fine, florid declamation,
By which he us'd to gull the nation!

But, as the mob had been so loud
To praise this idol of the crowd,
His friends were now asham'd to own
Their honest chief had chang'd his tone;
And let him lead them, by the snout,
As tho he ne'er had turn'd about.
Mean-while, with grief, the patriot few,
Who best the beaver's interest knew,
Saw him, on every flight pretence,
Abuse the public confidence;
And enter into every measure,
Contriv'd to squander blood and treasure:
Beheld the waste of both increase,
To purchase war, instead of peace;
While more their toil and less their gain:
How just a reason to complain!
The fruits of all their labour thrown
Away in quarrels not their own.