| 英譯： |
Within a ditch beyond my wall
I saw a falcon headlong fall.
Bedaubed with mud and racked with pain,
It beat its wings to rise, in vain;
While little boys 0 threw tiles and stones,
$(Eager yo break the wretch's bones. )$
$(O bird, methinks thy life of late)$
Hath amply justified this fate!
Thy sole delight to kill and steal,
And then exultingly to $(wheel)$,
Now sailing in the clear blue sky,
Now on the 0 $(wild gale sweeping by)$,
0
Scorning thy kind of less degree
As all unfit to mate with thee.
But mark how fortune's wheel goes round;
A pellet lays thee on the ground,
Sore stricken at some vital part, —
And where is then thy pride of heart?
What's this to me? —I could not bear
To see the fallen one lying there.
I begged its life, and from the brook
Water to wash its wounds I took.
Fed it with bits of fish by day,
At night from foxes kept away.
My care I knew would naught avail
For gratitude, that empty tale.
And so $(this bird)$ would crouch and hide
0 $(Till want its stimulus applied;)$
And I, with no reward to hope,
Allowed its callousness full scope.
Last eve $(the bird)$ showed signs of rage,
With health renewed, and beat its cage.
Today it forced a passage through,
And took its leave, without adieu.
Good luck hath saved thee, $(not desert;)$
Beware, $(O bird,)$ of further hurt;
Beware the 0 $(archer's)$ deadly tools! —
'Tis hard to escape the shafts of fools —
Nor e'er forget the chastening ditch
0 $(That found thee poor, and left thee rich.)$
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