The pampered steed, of swiftness proud,
Pranced o’er the plains, and neighed aloud.
A Mule he met, of sober pace,
And straight defied her to a race.
Long she declined to try the course;
How could she match in speed the horse?
At length, while pawing side by side,
A precipice the Mule espied,
And in her turn the Horse defied.
Near to its foot there stood a tree,
Which both agreed the goal should be.
Hasty rushed on the bounding steed,
And slowly sees the Mule proceed:
He sees, he scorns; but as they bend
From the rough mountain to descend,
He finds his boasted swiftness vain,
For footing here he can’t maintain.
The steady Mule the toil abides,
And skillful down the hill she slides,
Reaching the goal, well pleased to find
The vaunting Horse creep slow behind;
Who, tumbling from the mountain’s brow,
Came battered to the vale below;
Too late convinced, by what had passed,
That ” slow and sure goes far at last”.