It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang, <br />A feckless hairy oubit, and merrily he sang- <br />'My Minnie bad me bide at hame until I won my wings; <br />I show her soon my soul's aboon the warks o' creeping things.' <br /> <br />This feckless hairy oubit cam' hirpling by the linn, <br />A swirl o' wind cam' doun the glen, and blew that oubit in: <br />Oh when he took the water, the saumon fry they rose, <br />And tigg'd him a' to pieces sma', by head and tail and toes. <br /> <br />Tak' warning then, young poets a', by this poor oubit's shame; <br />Though Pegasus may nicher loud, keep Pegasus at hame. <br />Oh haud your hands frae inkhorns, though a' the Muses woo; <br />For critics lie, like saumon fry, to mak' their meals o' you. <br /> <br /> <br />Eversley, 1851.<br /><br />Charles Kingsley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-oubit/
