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The dove then brought a bonfire's sole
Surviving ember—one live coal,
And where a pile of dry leaves lay,
He kindled it to fire straightway.
 
"Now, sir, take heart; forgetting fear,
Resuscitate your members here;
Alas! I cannot put to flight
The cravings of your appetite.

"One patron feeds a thousand men;
One feeds a hundred; one feeds ten.
But I, whose virtue does not thrive,
Scarce keep my puny self alive.

"Ah, if you have not in your nest
Provision for a single guest,
Why occupy today, tomorrow
A nest that harbors naught but sorrow?

"I shall destroy my body, fain
To end its living with its pain,
That nevermore I stand confessed
Powerless to aid a needy guest."

And thus he blamed himself, you see;
The greedy fowler went scot-free:
Then—"I may yet your craving sate,
If one mere moment you will wait."

Whereat that creature free from sin,
Joy-quivering his soul within,
Walked round the fire, as it had been
His cherished home, and entered in.

When this the greedy fowler saw,
Compassion filled his soul, and awe.