The Bard’s Rewrite
Of Beasts and Their Silent Tongues
Lo! The learned minds of this age doth strive to teach a thing of wires and witless thought to hear the passions of the beastly world. What wondrous art doth man now fashion, that nature’s mute and mystic speech may find a voice ere long? With gaze most keen and ears attuned to sigh and cry of brutes untamed, these scholars seek to crack the code of nature’s hidden heart.
No longer shall the noble hound bark in vain, nor shall the lion’s roar be but a tempest lost upon the wind. Even the lowly mouse, that trembling wretch who steals unseen beneath the moon’s pale eye, may have his fears and joys laid bare. What witches’ craft is this, that man, so oft deaf to his own brother’s grief, now bends his skill to heed the murmurs of the wild?
A Mirror to Nature’s Soul
With instruments of cunning make, they scan the twitching brow of beasts, the furrowed snout, the quivering tail. Each motion, each unspoken breath, they mark and measure, seeking in their cold devices the heat of passion that doth move all living things. The ox that toils beneath the yoke, the sparrow that flutters in sudden fright—shall their dumb woes at last be known?
‘Tis a noble toil, this labor of wise minds, for if man should learn to read the heart of nature’s children, might he not then treat them with a gentler hand? Perchance the hunter shall stay his bow, knowing the stag doth weep for fear of death; perchance the farmer shall soften his rule, should he see that the kine doth mourn her stolen calf.
Yet, I do wonder—if man, who hath so oft misread his fellow’s face, now trusts a lifeless thing to read the beast’s true mind, shall he not err again? What if the machine, that heartless judge, doth mistake love for wrath, sorrow for mirth? Shall the fox be deemed a villain when he doth but grin in weary patience?
The Future’s Unwritten Scroll
Much remains unknown, and the road ahead is dark with mist. But if this art should find its truth, what marvels might arise? Could we not then speak with the beasts of field and forest, as Titania did with her enchanted love, or as the witches did whisper to their feline kin? Might not the very whales of the deep sing their ancient songs, and man at last take heed?
Yet, as Prospero did warn, all such wonders must be met with wisdom, lest they turn to folly. For in seeking to give voice to the beasts, let us not forget that our own hearts, too, must be understood. If man would hear the cry of the wolf, let him first learn to heed the sighs of his own kind.
So let these scholars toil and strive, and may their works bring light upon the world—but let them remember, as all wise men should, that nature is a book most vast, and not all pages are meant to be turned by mortal hands.
