The wing'd inhabitants of air Waged on a time a direful war. Not those, in budding groves who sing, To usher in the amorous spring; Nor those, with Venus' car who fly Through the light clouds and yielding sky But the rapacious vulture brood, With crooked beak that thirsts for blood, And iron fangs. Their war, 'tis said, For a dog's carrion corse was made. Shrill shrieks resound from shore to shore; The earth beneath is sanguin'd o'er; Versed in the science to destroy, Address and valor they employ. 'Twould take a hundred tongues to tell, The heroes from the air who fell. The dovecote race, a gentle nation, Made offers of their mediation. Prudent ambassadors are sent; The vultures with the terms content, Agree their guarantee to take, And armistice and treaty make. This kind desire to interfere, Cost the poor peace-makers full dear. To rapine bred, the ruthless crew, Nor gratitude nor faith who knew, On the defenceless pigeons fall, And shortly had devoured them all.