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diff --git a/50316-0.txt b/50316-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3788a18 --- /dev/null +++ b/50316-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15538 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 50316 *** +THE FABLES + +OF + +LA FONTAINE. + +TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY WALTER THORNBURY, + +WITH + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +BY + +GUSTAVE DORÉ. + +CASSELL, PETTER, AND GALPIN, + +LONDON AND NEW YORK. + +1886 + + + + + +[Illustration: Jean de la Fontaine] + + + + + CONTENTS + + + As Essay on the Life and Works of Jean de la Fontaine + The Life of Æsop, the Phrygian + Dedication to Monseigneur the Dauphin + Preface + To Monseigneur the Dauphin + + The Grasshopper and the Ant + The Raven and the Fox + The Frog that Wished to make Herself as Big as the Ox + The Two Mules + The Wolf and the Dog + The Heifer, the She-goat, and the Lamb, in Partnership with the Lion + The Wallet + The Swallow and the Little Birds + The Town Rat and the Country Rat + The Man and his Image + The Dragon with many Heads, and the Dragon with many Tails + The Wolf and the Lamb + The Robbers and the Ass + Death and the Woodcutter + Simonides rescued by the Gods + Death and the Unhappy Man + The Wolf turned Shepherd + The Child and the Schoolmaster + The Pullet and the Pearl + The Drones and the Bees + The Oak and the Reed + Against Those Who are Hard to Please + The Council held by the Rats + The Wolf Pleading against the Fox before the Ape + The Middle-Aged Man and the Two Widows + The Fox and the Stork + The Lion and the Gnat + The Ass Laden with Sponges, and the Ass Laden with Salt + The Lion and the Rat + The Dove and the Ant + The Astrologer Who let Himself Fall into the Well + The Hare and the Frogs + The Two Bulls and the Frog + The Peacock Complaining to Juno + The Bat and the Two Weasels + The Bird Wounded by an Arrow + The Miller, his Son, and the Ass + The Cock and the Fox + The Frogs Who Asked for a King + The Dog and Her Companion + The Fox and the Grapes + The Eagle and the Beetle + The Raven Who Wished to Imitate the Eagle + The Wolves and the Sheep + The Cat Changed into a Woman + Philomel and Progne + The Lion and the Ass + The Cat and the Old Rat + A Will Interpreted by Æsop + The Lion in Love + The Fox and the Goat + The Shepherd and the Sea + The Drunkard and His Wife + King Caster and the Members + The Monkey and the Dolphin + The Eagle, the Wild Sow, and the Cat + The Miser Who Lost His Treasure + The Gout and the Spider + The Eye of the Master + The Wolf and the Stork + The Lion Defeated by Man + The Swan and the Cook + The Wolf, the Goat, and the Kid + The Wolf, the Mother, and the Child + The Lion Grown Old + The Drowned Woman + The Weasel in the Granary + The Lark and Her Little Ones With the Owner of a Field + The Fly and the Ant + The Gardener and his Master + The Woodman and Mercury + The Ass and the Little Dog + Man and the Wooden Idol + The Jay Dressed in Peacock's Plumes + The Little Fish and the Fisherman + Battle Between the Rats and Weasles + The Camel and the Drift-Wood + The Frog and the Rat + The Old Woman and Her Servants + The Animals Sending a Tribute to Alexander + The Horse Wishing to be Revenged on the Stag + The Fox and the Bust + The Horse and the Wolf + The Saying of Socrates + The Old Man and His Children + The Oracle and the Impious Man + The Mountain in Labour + Fortune and the Little Child + The Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot + The Hare's Ears + The Fox with His Tail Cut Off + The Satyr and the Passer-By + The Doctors + The Labouring Man and His Children + The Hen with the Golden Eggs + The Ass that Carried the Relics + The Serpent and the File + The Hare and the Partridge + The Stag and the Vine + The Lion Going to War + The Ass in the Lion's Skin + The Eagle and the Owl + The Shepherd and the Lion + The Lion and the Hunter + Phœbus and Boreas + The Bear and the Two Friends + Jupiter and the Farmer + The Stag Viewing Himself in the Stream + The Cockerel, the Cat, and the Little Rat + The Fox, the Monkey, and the Other Animals + The Mule That Boasted of His Family + The Old Man and the Ass + The Countryman and the Serpent + The Hare and the Tortoise + The Sick Lion and the Fox + The Ass and His Masters + The Sun and the Frogs + The Carter Stuck in the Mud + The Doc and the Shadow + The Bird-Catcher, the Hawk, and the Skylark + The Horse and the Ass + The Charlatan + The Young Widow + Discord + The Animals Sick of the Plague + The Rat Who Retired From the World + The Heron + The Man Badly Married + The Maiden + The Wishes + The Vultures and the Pigeons + The Court of the Lion + The Milk-Maid and the Milk-Pail + The Curate and the Corpse + The Man Who Runs After Fortune, and the Man Who Waits for Her + The Two Fowls + The Coach and the Fly + The Ingratitude and Injustice of Men Towards Fortune + An Animal in the Moon + The Fortune-Teller + The Cobbler and the Banker + The Cat, the Weasel, and the Little Rabbit + The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox + The Head and the Tail of the Serpent + The Dog Which Carried Round His Neck His Master's Dinner + Death and the Dying Man + The Power of Fables + The Bear and the Amateur of Gardening + The Man and the Flea + The Woman and the Secret + Tircis and Amaranth + The Joker and the Fishes + The Rat and the Oyster + The Two Friends + The Pig, the Goat, and the Sheep + The Rat and the Elephant + The Funeral or the Lioness + The Bashaw and the Merchant + The Horoscope + The Torrent and the River + The Ass and the Dog + The Two Dogs and the Dead Ass + The Advantage of Being Clever + The Wolf and the Hunter + Jupiter and the Thunderbolts + The Falcon and the Capon + The Two Pigeons + Education + The Madman Who Sold Wisdom + The Cat and the Rat + Democritus and the Anderanians + The Oyster and Its Claimants + The Fraudulent Trustee + Jupiter and the Traveller + The Ape and the Leopard + The Acorn and the Gourd + The School-Boy, the Pedant, and the Nursery Gardener + The Cat and the Fox + The Sculptor and the Statue of Jupiter + The Mouse Metamorphosed Into a Girl + The Monkey and the Cat + The Wolf and the Starved Dog + The Wax Candle + "Not Too Much" + The Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg + The Cormorant and the Fishes + The Husband, the Wife, and the Robber + The Shepherd and the King + The Two Men and the Treasure + The Shepherd and His Flock + The Kite and the Nightingale + The Fish and the Shepherd Who Played on the Clarionet + The Man and the Snake + The Tortoise and the Two Ducks + The Two Adventurers and the Talisman + The Miser and his Friend + The Wolf and the Peasants + The Rabbits + The Swallow and the Spider + The Partridge and the Fowls + The Lion + The Dog Whose Ears Were Cut + The Two Parrots, the Monarch, and His Son + The Peasant of the Danube + The Lioness and She-Bear + The Merchant, the Nobleman, the Shepherd, and the King's Son + The Old Man and the Three Young Men + The Gods as Instructors of Jupiter's Son + The Owl and the Mice + The Companions of Ulysses + The Farmer, the Dog, and the Fox + The Dream of an Inhabitant of Mogul + The Two Goats + The Lion, the Ape, and the Two Asses + The Wolf and the Fox + The Sick Stag + The Cat and the Two Sparrows + The Miser and the Ape + To the Duke of Burgundy + The Old Cat and the Young Mouse + The Bat, the Bush, and the Duck + The Eagle and the Magpie + The Quarrel of the Dogs and the Cats; and, Also, That of the Cats and + the Mice + Love and Folly + The Wolf and the Fox + The Crab and Its Daughter + The Forest and the Woodman + The Fox, the Flies, and the Hedge-Hog + The Hawk, the King, and the Falcon + The Fox and the Turkeys + The Crow, the Gazelle, the Tortoise, and the Rat + The English Fox + The Ape + The Fox, the Wolf, and the Horse + The League of the Rats + A Scythian Philosopher + Daphnis and Alcimadura + The Elephant and Jupiter's Monkey + The Madman and the Philosopher + The Frogs and the Sun + The Arbitrator, Almoner, and Hermit + + + + + LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + The Grasshopper and the Ant + The Two Mules + The Swallow and the Little Birds + The Town Rat and the Country Rat + The Wolf and the Lamb + The Robbers and the Ass + Death and the Woodcutter + The Wolf Turned Shepherd + The Oak and the Reed + The Council Held by the Rats + The Lion and the Gnat + The Lion and the Rat + The Hare and the Frogs + The Peacock Complaining to Juno + The Miller, His Son, and the Ass + The Frogs Who Asked For a King + The Fox and the Grapes + The Wolves and the Sheep + Philomel and Progne + The Cat and the Old Rat + The Lion in Love + The Shepherd and the Sea + The Monkey and the Dolphin + The Miser Who Lost His Treasure + The Eye of the Master + The Wolf, the Mother, and the Child + The Lark and Her Little Ones + The Woodman and Mercury + The Little Fish and the Fisherman + The Old Woman and Her Servants + The Horse and the Wolf + Fortune and the Little Child + The Doctors + The Hen With the Golden Eggs + The Stag and the Vine + The Eagle and the Owl + The Bear and the Two Friends + The Stag Viewing Himself in the Stream + The Countryman and the Serpent + The Sick Lion and the Fox + The Carter Stuck in the Mud + The Young Widow + The Animals Sick of the Plague + The Maiden + The Vultures and the Pigeons + The Milkmaid and the Milk-Pail + The Two Fowls + An Animal in the Moon + The Fortune-Teller (To face page) + The Cobbler and the Banker + The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox + The Dog and His Master's Dinner + The Bear and the Amateur of Gardening + Tircis and Amaranth + The Rat and the Elephant + The Bashaw and the Merchant + The Torrent and the River + The Two Dogs and the Dead Ass + The Wolf and the Hunter + The Two Pigeons + The Madman Who Sold Wisdom + The Oyster and Its Claimants + Jupiter and the Traveller + The Cat and the Fox + The Monkey and the Cat + The Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg + The Cormorant and the Fishes + The Shepherd and the King + The Fish and the Shepherd Who Played on the Clarionet + The Two Adventurers and the Talisman + The Rabbits + The Lion + The Peasant of the Danube + The Old Man and the Three Young Men + The Owl and the Mice + The Companions of Ulysses + The Two Goats + The Sick Stag + The Eagle and the Magpie + Love and Folly + The Forest and the Woodman + The Fox and the Turkeys + The English Fox + The League of the Rats + Daphnis and Alcimadura + The Arbitrator, Almoner, and Hermit + + + + +AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND WORKS + +OF + +JEAN DE LA FONTAINE. + + +There are some writers the facts about whom can never be entirely told, +because they are inexhaustible, and speaking of whom we do not fear +to be blamed for repetition, because, though well known, they furnish +topics which never weary. La Fontaine is one of this class. No poet +has been praised oftener, or by more able critics, and of no poet has +the biography been so frequently written, and with such affectionate +minuteness. Nevertheless, it is certain that there will yet arise fresh +critics and new biographers, who will be as regardless as ourselves of +the fact that the subject has been so frequently enlarged upon. And +why, indeed, should we refuse to ourselves, or forbid to others, the +pleasure of speaking of an old friend of our childhood, whose memory is +always fresh and always dear? + +This truly worthy man was born in Château-Thierry, a little town of +Champagne, where his father, Charles de la Fontaine, was a supervisor +of woods and forests. His mother, Françoise Piloux, was the daughter +of a mayor of Coulommiers. An amiable but careless child, he was lazy +in his studies, and certainly did not display, by the direction of +his earlier inclinations, the germs of his future genius. At twenty +years of age, after the perusal of some religious works, he formed the +idea that his vocation was the Church, and entered the seminary of +Saint Magloire, where, however, he remained only one year. His example +was followed by his brother Claude, with this difference, that the +latter persevered to the end. On quitting the seminary, La Fontaine, +in the paternal mansion, led that life of idleness and pleasure which +so frequently, especially in the provinces, enervates young men of +family. To bring him back to a more orderly course of life, his father +procured him a wife, and gave him the reversion of his office. He was +then twenty-six years of age, and the demon of poetry had not yet taken +possession of him. La Fontaine never hurried himself about anything. + +The accidental recitation in his presence of an ode by Malherbe aroused +in his soul, which had hitherto been devoted to pleasure and idleness, +a taste for poetry. He read the whole of Malherbe's writings with +enthusiasm, and endeavoured to imitate him. Malherbe alone would have +spoiled La Fontaine, had not Pintrel and Maucroix, two of his friends, +led him to the study of the true models. La Fontaine himself has left +a confession of these first flights of his muse. Plato and Plutarch, +amongst the ancients, were his favourite authors; but he could read +them only by the aid of translations, as he had never studied Greek. +Horace, Virgil, and Terence, whose writings he could approach in the +original, also charmed him. Of modern authors his favourites were +Rabelais, Marot, De Periers, Mathurin, Régnier, and D'Urfé, whose +"Astræa" was his especial delight. + +Marriage had not by any means fixed his inconstant tastes. Marie +Héricart, whom he had been induced to marry in 1647, was endowed with +beauty and intellect, but was unsupplied with those solid qualities, +love of order, industry, and that firmness of character which might +have exercised a wholesome discipline over her husband. Whilst she +was reading romances, La Fontaine sought amusement away from home, or +brooded either over his own poems or those of his favourite authors. +The natural consequence was, that the affairs of the young people soon +fell into disorder; in addition to this, when La Fontaine's father +died, he left our poet an inheritance encumbered with mortgages, which +had been the only means of paying debts, and preserving the family +estate intact; these became fresh sources of embarrassment to our poet, +who being, as may well be supposed, anything but a man of business, +incapable of self-denial, and unassisted by his wife, soon, as he +himself gaily expressed it, devoured both capital and income, and in a +few years found himself without either. + +La Fontaine seems to have confined his duties, as supervisor of woods +and waters, to simply taking long rambles under the venerable trees of +the forests submitted to his care, or to enjoying prolonged slumbers on +the verdant banks of murmuring brooks. And that this was the case we +may reasonably suppose, since at sixty years of age he declared that he +did not know what foresters meant by round timber, ornamental timber, +or <i>bois de touche.</i> + +His soul was wrapped up in poetry. His first poems were what might be +called album verses, and could scarcely have been understood beyond +Château-Thierry. These verses, however, obtained so favourable a +reception, that at length he ventured to attempt a comedy. But, as the +faculty of construction had been denied him, he only <i>adapted</i> one +of Terence's plays, changing the names of the characters, and taking +certain liberties with the situations. The piece which he had selected, +the "Eunuchus," was very unsuited to the boards of the French stage, +and he never attempted to get it produced; but he published it, and it +was by means of this mediocre, although neatly versified work, that his +name first became known to the public, when he had already entered his +thirty-third year. + +It was about this period that one of his relations, J. Jannart, a +counsellor of the king, presented the poet to Fouquet, for whom +Jannart acted as deputy in the Parliament of Paris. The Surintendant, +partial to men of letters, gave La Fontaine a cordial reception, and +bestowed upon him a liberal pension. La Fontaine became, not a mere +accessory, but one of the most valued elements of the royal luxury of +Fouquet's house, or, rather, court; and it was through his <i>protégé</i>, +at a later period, that Fouquet received the only consolation that +soothed his disgrace. La Fontaine, established as poet-in-ordinary to +Fouquet, received a pension of a thousand livres, on condition that he +furnished, once in every three months, a copy of laudatory verses. He +was henceforth a guest at a perpetual round of fêtes; his eyes were +dazzled, his heart was moved, and his mind at last awoke. The years +which he passed in the midst of this voluptuous magnificence were years +of enchantment, of which he has left traces in the "Songe de Vaux," the +earliest indication of a talent which was to develop into genius. The +first efforts of his muse at this period were laid at the shrine of +<i>gratitude</i>, but <i>grief</i> more happily inspired him, for the "Elegy to +the Nymphs of Vaux," the subject matter of which was the disgrace of +the Surintendant, raised him to the front rank amongst the masters of +his art. Up to this time La Fontaine had been only a pleasant, lively, +and ingenious versifier; but on this occasion he proved himself a true +poet, and the lines which we have just named are still regarded as +amongst the choicest productions of the sort in the French language. +"La Fontaine did not merely bewail, in the fall of Fouquet, the loss +of his own hopes and pleasures, but the misfortunes of the one friend +to whom he was gratefully attached, and of whose brilliant qualities +he had the highest admiration. The emotion which he expressed was no +fleeting one, for, some years afterwards, when passing by Amboise, the +faithful friend desired to visit the apartment in which Fouquet had +endured the first period of his imprisonment. He could not enter it, +but paused on the threshold, weeping bitterly; and it was only at the +approach of night that he could be induced to leave the spot." + +Our poet's success amongst the crowd of brilliant men and distinguished +women who formed Fouquet's court, could never be understood, if we gave +full credence to those stories of odd eccentricities, simplicities, and +blunders of which he has so frequently been made the hero. It cannot be +denied that he was frequently a dreamer, absorbed in his own thoughts, +and too apt to be credulous and absent in mind; but the greeting which +was accorded to him, and the eagerness with which his acquaintance was +courted in such a place, are sufficient evidences that he could be a +charming companion when he pleased. He could be abstracted enough when +surrounded by uncongenial spirits; he opened his heart only to those +who pleased him: but on his friends he lavishly bestowed his joyous but +refined wit, and his delightful <i>bonhomie.</i> The inborn carelessness +of his nature rendered him averse to everything like effort; he was +dumb to those who knew not how to touch the keynote of his soul; to +such he was present, indeed, in the body, but his soul was cold and +inharmonious. It may even be added, that reverie with him was a species +of politeness by which he was wont to conceal his weariness. On such +occasions he doubtless fled to the companionship of his fabulous +beasts, although he refrained from saying so. Abstraction was to La +Fontaine a means of becoming independent, and it is not, therefore, +very surprising that he should have allowed people to attribute to him, +in an exaggerated degree, a defect which he found so useful. + +Fouquet's disgrace threw La Fontaine once more into that family life +for the earnest and monotonous duties of which he had now grown more +than ever unfitted. A son had been born to him, and this might have +been supposed to attach him to his home; but the truth is, that +children, whom he has for so many generations amused, were regarded +by La Fontaine as his natural enemies, and he never let slip any +occasion of expressing this opinion. "The little people," as he called +them, were always obnoxious to him. It must be admitted that they are +importunate, noisy, ever clamorous for small attentions, and they +appear tyrannical to the last degree, in the eyes, at least, of those +who have no warm affection for them. And it must also be admitted that +La Fontaine was frequently their rival; for he always desired to be, +and was, the spoilt child of the house, the child whose caprices were +ever humoured, whose tastes were ever consulted. His life was, indeed, +one long period of childhood. He arrived at manhood, became grey, and +grew old, without ceasing to be a child; and to understand him rightly +we must remember this fact. It is the key to, and some excuse for, that +neglect of all serious duties which we should have to severely blame in +him, if we applied to his case the rules of rigorous morality. + +Constituted as he was, La Fontaine would naturally seize every +opportunity of quitting his family and that Château-Thierry which he +now regarded as a species of tomb. To distract himself from his grief, +whilst apparently clinging to it more closely, he followed to Limoges +his relation Jannart, who had been exiled by <i>lettre de cachet</i> with +Madame Fouquet, to whom he served as secretary and steward. Our poet +has written a narrative of this journey in a series of letters to his +wife, interspersed with pretty verses, and abounding in vivacity. His +stay at Limoges was short, and we soon after find him dividing his +time between Paris and Château-Thierry, sometimes alone, and sometimes +with Madame de La Fontaine, who at first frequently accompanied him in +his excursions. The expense of these frequent journeys was naturally +calculated to add to the disorder of his affairs; but he troubled +himself little on this score, and it was some consolation that his own +property alone was melting away, and that his wife would by-and-by be +able to live by herself on property devoted to her own use. Let us also +remark, in passing, that he did not altogether neglect that son of his +who, at a later period, he describes as a charming boy, in that short +and singular interview which has been so frequently discussed, and to +whose education he attended until he was relieved of that duty by the +generosity of the Procureur-General, De Harlay. + +To this period must be referred his intimacy with Racine, also a +"Champenois," and a brother poet--an intimacy which was due to the +good offices of Molière, whom La Fontaine had known, and, consequently +admired and loved, when residing with Fouquet. His acquaintance with +Racine led again to that with Boileau and Molière Chapelle, that +incurable promoter of orgies, that wine-bibbing Anacreon, who was +always at war with our four poets, especially towards the conclusion of +their suppers. Boileau, the Severe, endeavoured sometimes to curb his +joyous comrades, but with scant success, and it is on record that on a +certain occasion Chapelle got drunk during the course of an impromptu +sermon of Boileau's on the virtues of temperance. Our good friends led +a joyous life, which, however, was nearly having a tragic termination, +since once, after a dinner at Auteuil, over deep potations of wine, +they were led to become philosophic in so melancholy a fashion, that +they resolved to drown their several griefs in the Seine, and would +have done so, had not Molière happily remarked that it would be more +heroic to perform the deed on the morrow. This joyous fraternity soon +broke up. Molière was driven away by an ill-judged action on the part +of Racine. The royal favour induced Boileau and Racine to become more +circumspect; Chapelle gave himself up to inordinate debauchery; and La +Fontaine, whilst retaining his friendships, went to dream and amuse +himself elsewhere. + +Whilst this intimacy lasted, La Fontaine frequently took Racine and +Boileau to Château-Thierry, whither he went from time to time to sell +a few acres of land, in order to enable him to balance his receipts +against his expenditure. The amiable Maucroix, another Epicurean, +arrived in his turn to complete the revel which was now carried on +at Rheims, to which city he gladly enticed his dear La Fontaine, who +desired nothing better than to follow him thither, for, as he has +himself told us, + + + "Of all fair cities do I most love Rheims, + At once the beauty and the pride of France." + + +Madame de la Fontaine soon became weary of this life of dissipation, +and ceased to follow her volatile husband to Paris. The separation +between the spouses was effected, if not without disputes, at any rate +without any legal process. Racine frequently urged his friend to become +reconciled to his wife, and it was in compliance with such counsels +that he made that celebrated journey to Château-Thierry, from which he +returned without having even seen Madame de La Fontaine. The anecdote +is well known. "Well, have you seen your wife? Are you reconciled?" +"I went to see her; but she was in retirement." "Ah! how charmingly +naive!" exclaim the biographers; "what a delightful illustration of the +poet's habitual <i>bonhomie</i> and abstraction!" Alas! it is nothing of the +kind. La Fontaine knew what he was about. He had set out in compliance +with his friend's wish, and, in fulfilment of his promise, he had gone +to his house door; but, having found no one at home, he had quietly +returned, only too glad that he had redeemed his promise, and avoided +an interview which he dreaded. Then, returning to his friends, he put +them off with a childish excuse, at which he would not be the last to +laugh with all his heart. The whole incident is quite in accordance +with the man's character. His weak resolution induced him at first to +yield, but the natural buoyancy of his spirit recovered itself, and +triumphed in the end. + +La Fontaine was now more than forty years of age, and, with the +exception of his frigid imitation of Terence's comedy, and his +admirable elegy on Fouquet, he had produced nothing which proved +that he was anything more than a pleasant and elegant versifier. We +must remark, however, that he obtained at this time the position of +Gentleman-in-Waiting to the Dowager Duchess of Orleans, widow of +Gaston, brother of Louis XIII. The little court of the Luxembourg, at +least, if not that of the grand King's, was thrown open to La Fontaine, +and he was received there on terms of the pleasantest intimacy. The +office to which he was appointed was not merely honorary, and it +justified his acceptance of liberalities of which he was not a little +in need. The Duchess of Bouillon also became a patroness of our poet, +whom she had met at Château-Thierry; and he was now engaged by this +princess of easy manners and voluptuous disposition, to apply his +talents to, the imitation in verse of those somewhat too gallant tales +which Ariosto and Boccaccio borrowed from our Trouvères. This advice, +eagerly followed, opened up to La Fontaine a new vein of his genius, +and threw him upon apologue as one of the means of poetic expression. +"Joconde" was his first effort in this style; and this tale, freely +rendered from Ariosto, was the cause of a literary discussion, in +which Boileau broke a lance in the service of his friend with another +imitator against whom La Fontaine was then pitted, and who has since +been forgotten: it was like Pradon being compared to Racine. The +success of this first effort encouraged the author to make fresh ones, +and he speedily produced new tales, as ingenious and indecent as the +first. Such fame as Fontaine acquired by these tales must not be +dilated on; for, although there was nothing in the corrupt ingenuity of +the pleasant poet that was deliberately vicious, and although he was +sincerely astonished that, on account of a few rather free narratives, +he should be accused of corrupting the innocence of youth, we must +nevertheless hold that the accusation was well founded. + +Recognised and appreciated as La Fontaine's talents now were, he would +doubtless have been the object of some of those distinguishing marks of +favour which Louis XIV. was ever ready to bestow upon men of genius, +had not his irregular mode of life, and the character of some of his +later productions, offended the susceptibilities of the monarch and +those of the severe Colbert, the administrator of his liberalities. +That La Fontaine should have once been the friend of Fouquet is not +sufficient to account for this denial of royal favour, since Pélisson, +the eloquent defender of the Surintendant, was himself at this period +the object of distinguished royal patronage. The fall of Fouquet was, +indeed, so terribly complete and hopeless, that his enemies could well +afford to allow his friends to shelter themselves under the cloak of +amnesty. To say, as some have done, that La Fontaine was neglected +because he belonged to the "party of the opposition," is idle; for, +in the first place, <i>le bonne homme</i> had not the courage to resist the +majority, and in the second place, there was nothing he more eagerly +desired than to be one of the Court poets. Indeed, he seized every +opportunity of celebrating the glories of the reign of Louis the Great. + +The real truth is, that he was treated coldly on account of the +licentiousness, equally great, both of his verses and his mode of life, +at a time when he would merely have had to promise amendment for the +future, to have been a participator in the royal benefits, and to have +been made a member of the Academy. + +La Fontaine had not a conscience entirely pure, and, accordingly, +strove to hide his misdoings under cover of works perfectly +irreproachable. Uninvited, he now proposed to himself the task +of amusing and instructing the Dauphin, whose education had then +commenced. It was an honourable method of paying homage to the +Court, and of atoning for past errors. The elegance of Phædrus and +the simplicity of Æsop had already fascinated him--he was ambitious +of imitating them; but although thoroughly skilled in the art of +narrating, he never suspected that he was about to eclipse his +models. He set himself below Phædrus, and Fontenelle has declared +that his doing so was one of his blunders--a piquant word, which we +may translate in this instance as "a sincere and even exaggerated +admiration for consecrated names." A feeling of and a taste for +perfection are, moreover, the surest curb-reins to self-love. The +playfulness, delicacy, and ingenuity of La Fontaine's spirit, as well +as the natural simplicity of his character, preserved him from the +illusions of vanity, and caused him even to misconceive the real value +of his genius. It was necessary, then, in the first place, that his +true vocation should be revealed to him, and actual fame alone could +show that his talent had raised him to the first rank. + +His first collection of fables, arranged in six books, appeared in +1668, under the modest title of "Æsop's Fables: Translated into Verse +by M. de la Fontaine." The work was dedicated to the Dauphin, and +this dedication reveals to us the poet's secret intention in the +publication of the volume. At a later period we find him taking a more +direct part in the education of the grandson of Louis XIV., through +the medium of Fénélon. And now, as we have followed so many others +in judging of these inimitable compositions, we remark how slowly La +Fontaine's talent developed itself, the better to attain the highest +state of maturity. If the poet, on the one hand, careless as to +fortune, allowed his patrimony to melt away, let us observe how much +time, pure air, and sunlight he has given to the peaceful cultivation +of his genius. The tree has been covered with branches, the leaves in +due season have adorned them, and then fruits the most delicious have +appeared craving to be gathered. Oh, careless great one! full well +had you the right to spurn all vulgar cares; to devour, as you have +said, your capital together with your revenue, since you stored up for +yourself another capital, which will give you immortal wealth! + +La Fontaine's improvidence may be attributed in some degree to his +friends, who seem never to have failed him in any necessity. When +death had deprived him of the protection of the Duchess of Orleans, he +was immediately adopted, so to speak, by the Duchess de la Sablière, +whose generosity provided for all his wants, and whose delicate +kindness anticipated all his wishes. It was, doubtless, the gratitude +with which this lady inspired him, that drew from La Fontaine's heart +those verses, which so many others have since recited in a spirit of +bitterness-- + + + "Oh, what it is to have a faithful friend," &c. + + +And here we have another of those names on which one loves to dwell so +fondly. Madame de la Sablière was a genuine patroness of philosophers +and men of letters. Her house was always open to them, and her fortune +encouraged them to prosecute their labours. Sauveur, Roberval, and +Bernier experienced her discreet liberality, which disguised itself +only that it might be the more freely bestowed. She loved knowledge, +and possessed it without the desire of display; she had a passion for +doing good, yet she employed an innocent art in concealing it. The +devotion which she displayed in an unholy love was, for this woman, +otherwise so irreproachable, only a transition to those transports of +sincere piety which occupied the closing years of her life. La Fontaine +was, up to the seventy-second year of his life, the familiar genius of +Madame de la Sablière's mansion, and passed more than twenty years in +it in complete tranquillity, at first as one of a most select circle +of wits and philosophers, and afterwards as an independent host, doing +himself the honours of the house to a rather miscellaneous circle of +visitors, which he gathered round him during the prolonged religious +seclusions of his patroness, who latterly devoted herself entirely to +care for the safety of her soul. + +La Fontaine had no longer any need to secure fresh protectors. His +destiny was secured, for, like the rat in the fable, + + + "Provisions and lodgings! what wanted he more?" + + +We may now, therefore, be as tranquil on his account as he was himself, +merely observing that he took advantage of this security to deliver +himself up with a species of fury to the demon of poetry, which never +deserted him. His first fables were received with favour, and when +he published others he met with a good fortune which is accorded to +but few poets, for even the later ones increased his fame. However, +this, his favourite species of writing, had not completely absorbed +his attention; the romance of "Psyche," and some theatrical pieces, +occupied his time at intervals. "Psyche," which still amuses us, amused +him also much. He worked at it when he wished to rest from other +labours, and also at length completed it. The "Songe de Vaux" was +less happy; but how could he recall the enchantments and fairy lore +of that château where Fouquet had passed the last years of his life +in hopeless captivity? Versailles had surpassed it in magnificence, +and La Fontaine employed his descriptive talents in describing the +palace whose increasing marvels, which struck every eye, he attached +incidentally to the plot of his allegorical fable, already complicated +with interlocutors, who may be easily recognised under feigned names +as Molière, Boileau, Racine, and La Fontaine. The publication of this +romance, of which the prose is elegant, and which also contains many +excellent verses, took place soon after that of the first fables. It +was received with much favour, and Molière, assisted by Corneille +and De Quinault, extracted from it an opera, the music of which was +composed by Lulli. + +La Fontaine's dramatic attempts were, it must be confessed, seldom +happy; but Furetierè certainly exaggerates when he tells us that +managers never ventured to give a second representation of his pieces, +for fear of being pelted. However this may be, the theatre had a great +attraction for La Fontaine, and the society of actors a still greater. +When Madame de la Sablière's drawing-room appeared too serious to him, +he would go to amuse himself at Champmeslé's, and, whilst Racine +shaped the talents of this great actress, La Fontaine assisted her +husband in the composition of mediocre comedies, in which we can find +but few traces of the poet's skill. It is on this account that he has +been made to share the responsibility of the authorship of "Ragotin," +a dull imitation of the "Roman Comique." There is little more, indeed, +to be said in favour of "Je vous prends sans Verts," which has been +attributed to him, and which we may surrender to Champmeslé, who will +not gain much, while La Fontaine would certainly lose by it. Of all +the pieces put on the stage by Champmeslé, there is only one that +we should wish to be able, with a clear conscience, to assign to La +Fontaine, and that is "Le Florentin," an amusing little comedy, which +contains one scene worthy of Molière. The share which La Fontaine took, +or is asserted to have taken, in the composition of these comedies, +is difficult to determine. What there can be no doubt of is, that +at one time he formed the design of writing a tragedy, and this, +perhaps, at the instigation of Racine, who could never refrain from +a joke, especially at the expense of his friends. Achilles was the +hero selected by our poet; but he prudently paused after having made a +commencement. + +This brings us to the mention of La Fontaine's one great, solitary, and +brief fit of anger. Always ready to yield to the advice of his friends, +he imprudently listened to Lulli, who had importuned him to produce, +at a very short notice, the libretto of an opera. The music was to be +marvellous, the Court would applaud to the skies the author and the +composer, and the poet would be free of the theatre, and have acquired +all the rights of dramatic authorship. What a temptation was this! La +Fontaine courageously set himself to work under the guidance of Lulli, +who urged him forward, and day by day made fresh suggestions. The poet +readily obeyed the spur, and even yielded to the sacrifice of some of +his verses; but he had scarcely finished, when he discovered that his +perfidious employer had passed over, with all his musical baggage, +to the Proserpine of Quinault. We may judge of the poet's rage. The +four months' labour utterly lost; the nights passed without sleep; the +treachery of the instigation; the heartless abandonment! Ah! how many +causes of complaint had the poet against this traitor! La Fontaine +could not contain himself, and wrote a satire, compound of gall and +bile, in which he complains of having been made a fool of. This fit of +passion, however, did not last long. Madame de Thianges brought about +a reconciliation between the culprit and the victim, and that without +much difficulty, for, after all, Lulli was an excellent companion, +and La Fontaine was incapable of nursing anger long. To be angry +was a trouble to him, and consequently he never kept up a sense of +ill-feeling for any length of time. His friends might become estranged +from or quarrel with each other; but he remained on the best of terms +with them, and saw them separately. One might have thought that he had +taken for his motto the verse of the old poet, Garnier-- + + + "To love I am plighted, but never to hate." + + +The poetical excursions of La Fontaine out of his own domain added +nothing to his renown, and were scarcely perceived amidst the rays of +his glory as a fabulist--the title by which he is known to posterity; +and it may be added, that the Fable, as it is fashioned by La Fontaine, +is one of the happiest creations of the human mind. It is, properly +speaking, a <i>charm</i>, as he has said, for in it all the resources of +poetry are enclosed in one frame. La Fontaine's apologue is connected +with the <i>épopée</i> by the narrative, with the descriptive style by his +pictures, with the drama by the play of various personages, and the +representation of various characters, and with didactic poetry by the +precepts which he inculcates. Nor is this all; for the poet frequently +speaks in his own person. The supreme charm of his compositions +consists in the vitality with which they are imbued. The illusion is +complete, and passes from the poet who has been first subjected to +it, to the spectator, whom it entrances. Homer is the only poet who +possesses this characteristic in the same degree. La Fontaine has +always before his eyes all that he describes, and his description is +an actual painting. His spirit, gently moved by the spectacle which at +first it enjoys alone, reproduces it in vivid pictures. That simplicity +for which he has been praised exists but in the nature of the images +which he has chosen as the best means of representing his thoughts, +or, rather, his emotions. Properly speaking, we do not so much read La +Fontaine's fables as gaze at them; we do not know them by heart, but we +have them constantly before our eyes. Let us take as an example "Death +and the Woodman," since on this subject two great poets have weakly +contended against our fabulist. In this laughable rivalry Boileau and +J. B. Rousseau are killed by the spirit of abstraction; whilst La +Fontaine triumphs by means of the image which glows before the eyes +and penetrates the heart. If we add to the constant attractiveness of +living reality the pleasure caused by the representation of humanity +under animal symbols, we shall have before us the two active principles +of the universal interest excited by La Fontaine's fables--I mean +<i>illusion</i>, which excites the imagination; and <i>allusion</i>, which has a +reduplicate action on the mind. + +We do not pretend to assert that there were no French fabulists in +France before La Fontaine. The Trouvères were fabulists, and one of +the most remarkable specimens of the literature of the middle ages, +the "Romance of the Fox," is a genuine study of feudal society, in the +guise of personages selected from the animal kingdom. The resemblance +of men to animals in this work is complete, and this strange <i>épopée</i> +derives its interest from the <i>allusion</i>, which was so remarkable a +characteristic of La Fontaine's fables. But our poet never drew from +this abundant source, and was also unaware that Marie de France in the +thirteenth century had adopted, in imitation of Æsop, the simplicity of +treatment which he himself had surpassed, and that other poets of the +same period had not only treated of similar subjects, but had written +verses on them, which he reproduced in the full confidence that they +were original. La Fontaine drew his materials directly from the Greek, +the Latin, or the Oriental, Æsop, Phædrus, and Pilpay were his models; +but it must be observed that he might have found amongst French writers +guides to that perfection which he alone has attained. P. Blanchet, +in "L'Avocat Patelin," has inserted the fable of "The Crow and the +Fox," to the first of whom he has given the name of Maitre, adopted +by La Fontaine. Clément Marot wrote a little drama, full of grace and +playfulness, on the subject of the fable of "The Rat and the Lion;" +and Régnier has illumined with his genius the oft-told story of "The +Wolf and the Horse." La Fontaine knew no other predecessors, amongst +modern poets, than the three above mentioned, and he was at no pains +to imitate them. In spite of some few scattered similarities between +his writings and theirs, La Fontaine was, on the whole, completely +original. + +La Fontaine's originality does not consist solely in the particular +bent of his imagination, but also in his language. It is true that his +style bears the impress of the purity and elegance of the language of +his age, and is characterised by that finish which is common to all +the great writers of his time; but there is also a peculiar richness, +suppleness, and naturalness about his idiom. There is, indeed, a Gallic +tone in his writings, which is to be found in the works of no other +authors of the same period, and which, though derived from old sources, +gives to his works a surprising air of novelty. The use of old words +and phrases, which he has revived, is a genuine conquest over the lapse +of time, and a convenient method of setting forth ideas which would +have been unsuited to the over-strained dignity of classic language. +Marot, Rabelais, and Bonaventure des Periers, all contributed to enable +La Fontaine to make use of the best colloquial language that has +ever been employed by any writer; but La Fontaine's thefts are never +discoverable; they blend with such exquisite effect with his own ideas, +that they seem rather to be reminiscences than robberies. It is in this +way that he has robbed the ancients without betraying himself, and that +Horace, Virgil, and Plato, even, have furnished him with happy phrases, +which have been obdurate to the efforts of all their translators; +phrases which La Fontaine has unconsciously appropriated. His brain +took them as they fell in with the current of his thought, and they +flowed on with it as though from the same source. Virgil may discover +his <i>frigus captabis opacum</i> in "Gouter l'Ombre, et le Frais;" Horace, +his <i>O! imitatores, servum pecus</i> in "Quelques Imitateurs sot Bétail, +je l'Avoue;" and, again, his <i>at nostri proavi</i> in "Nos Aïeux, Bonnes +Gens." But if either Virgil or Horace were to meet with La Fontaine, +they would neither exclaim against him as a traitor nor a thief, but +only hail him as a brother poet. + +La Fontaine was permitted to present his second collection of fables to +Louis XIV., and obtained a privilege with respect to its publication +which was almost unique; a eulogium on the work being included in +its <i>authorisation</i>. Our poet at this period assumed a most discreet +air, and out of regard, doubtless, for his patroness, avoided all +occasion for scandal. Another, and perhaps a stronger reason was, that +he cherished a secret ambition of becoming a member of the Academy. +Inspired by this hope, he prevailed on himself so far as to praise +Colbert, who had been the vindictive means of the fall of Fouquet. +The illustrious fraternity, it must be observed, had given him some +intimation that it was willing to elect him, and entreated him to act +in such a manner that the election might be unanimous. The goodwill of +the Academy was so decided, that, at the death of Colbert, it preferred +the fabulist to Boileau, who had the support of the royal favour. But +a delay was necessary. The Academy's choice was neither annulled nor +confirmed; the final decision being delayed until the death of another +of the immortals had created a fresh vacancy, and Boileau and La +Fontaine entered the Academy side by side; Boileau as soon as elected, +and La Fontaine after a year's delay. As we have already said, he had +performed his purgatory, and Louis XIV. had been willing to believe +that he would henceforth be discreet. We shall see, however, that La +Fontaine had only strength enough to promise, and that he was a living +example of the refrain of one of his most charming ballads-- + + "A promise is one thing-- the keeping another." + +The desire to become a member of the Academy had been with La Fontaine +a passion. He was attracted to the honour as well by his friendship +for his comrades as by his love for literature. He rendered himself +noticeable by the constancy with which he frequented the Academy, +always joining its sittings in time to receive his fee for attendance. +One day he was late, and, strict as the rule was, the members present, +who knew that this little weekly payment was about all the pocket +money their comrade enjoyed, proposed that the rule for that occasion +should be relaxed; but La Fontaine was inflexible. Nevertheless, this +act of heroism did not prevent Furetière, in the course of his quarrel +with the Academy, from stigmatising La Fontaine as a <i>jetonnier</i>. It +is well known why this lexicographical abbé, as bilious as reforming +grammarians mostly are, entered upon a campaign against his comrades, +and how his obstinacy and evil deeds, although he was really in the +right, caused his exclusion from the Academy. Fontaine, either through +inadvertence or from a feeling of <i>esprit de corps</i>, which is more +probably the case, had deposited the fatal black ball for the exclusion +of his obstinate friend. The consequence was, that Furetière pursued +him with implacable animosity, and showered upon the head of the +good old fabulist more than his share of epigrams, which were rather +venomous than witty. It was the only attack of this sort that La +Fontaine had to endure, but it was a particularly sharp one. To style +the most inoffensive of men "a monster of perfidy" was the slightest of +the onslaughts of the rancorous Abbé of Chalivoix. May Heaven preserve +us all from the vengeance of soured friends, for there is nothing to +equal their venom and malice! + +La Fontaine found himself mixed up in another not less animated +Academical quarrel, one in which his opponents did not display so great +an absence of courtesy. I refer to the controversy between the ancient +and modern schools, which was revived in full Academy by Christopher +Perrault. Boileau was as eager in the matter as Racine. La Fontaine +enrolled himself in their ranks, with less of partisanship, but equal +decision. Thus, the three best instances that the panegyrist of the +moderns could have employed in support of his position, were found +ranged against him. The turn which the dispute took is singular indeed. +Those who were really the rivals of antiquity declared themselves in +its favour, while writers of mediocrity, who had much less personal +interest in the question than they themselves imagined, proclaimed with +fervour the superiority of the moderns. Saint-Sorlin had begun the +battle. On Perrault's signal the weapons were snatched up once more, +and Lamotte-Houdard continued the war. Strange champions of progress in +letters! whom the absurdity of the contrast between their pretensions +on behalf of their school and the little merits of themselves, its +examples, have almost alone saved from oblivion. In fact, the only +thing which remains of the least interest in the bulky files of this +controversy is our poet's admirable epistle to the learned Huet, at the +time Bishop of Soissons. + +As long as La Fontaine was under the watchful eye of Madame de la +Sablière, he was guilty of nothing worse than mere peccadilloes; but as +soon as she had closed her saloon--having been abandoned by the Marquis +de la Fare--and had given herself up to the practice of the most +austere devotion, the old infant, whom she had left without a guardian, +took advantage of his independence precisely as any school-boy might +have done. The princes of the house of Vendôme, who amused themselves +in the Temple like real Templars, invited him to their festivals, +and led him on by their example. Fresh seductions enticed him to an +improper indulgence in pleasures suited only to a time of life far +different from his own. It is sad to have to record these weaknesses +on the part of our poet, but we have, at least, the consolation of +knowing that they were expiated by a most sincere repentance. + +A serious illness at length warned La Fontaine that it was time for +him to refrain from the pursuit of pleasure, and to contemplate the +approach of death. He had never, even in the midst of his wildest +dissipation, failed in respect for religion: he had neither insulted +nor neglected it. The easy morals of men and women of the world in +the seventeenth century were by no means a systematic revolt against +religious principles. Such persons were quite conscious that they were +offending against that which is right, and had no idea of maintaining +the contrary. The most licentious of them intended to repent some day. +Where such a tone of feeling prevails, a change of life need not be +despaired of. It must be acknowledged that La Fontaine was slow to make +such a change; but when he did make it, he returned completely to that +fervent piety which had led him to resolve in his youth to adopt the +sacred calling. Racine, who had long since discarded the brief errors +of his youth, nursed his friend during this illness, and procured his +reconciliation with the Church. It was he, when at the sick man's +pillow, to whom La Fontaine naively proposed to distribute in alms the +price which he was to receive for certain copies of a new edition of +his "Tales." However, his illness grew daily more serious, and a young +vicar of Saint Roch, the Abbé Poujet, was charged with the duty of +giving the final direction to Fontaine's penitence. He found him in the +best frame of mind, and La Fontaine not only consented to disavow and +apologise for his literary offences before a deputation of the Academy, +but also promised, should he survive, to write only on moral or +religious subjects; and, finally, agreed to sacrifice to the scruples +of his director, and the Sorbonne, a comedy in verse, which was about +to be represented, and which the poet loved as the child of his old +age. This sacrifice was truly meritorious, for it was not accomplished +without many regrets. No doubt could exist as to the sincerity of his +conversion. La Fontaine accordingly received the last sacrament; and +when a rumour was spread abroad that he was dead, it was declared that +he had died as a saint. This rumour of his departure, however, was +not well founded, for health had returned with peace of soul, and he +was yet allowed time to prove, by the rigorous practice of the duties +of a Christian, the sincerity of his repentance. Whilst following all +the phases of this solemn preparation for death, I am astonished and +saddened by the fact that I can behold around the sick man's couch +academicians, clergy, and crowds of friends, but neither wife nor child. + +While the illustrious and henceforth Christian guest of Madame de la +Sablière was recovering his health, his patroness had died at the +Incurables, to which she had retired. La Fontaine had scarcely regained +his health, when he had to leave the mansion which had afforded him an +asylum for more than twenty-two years; he was on the point of quitting +it when he met M. d'Hervart, who had come to propose that he should go +with him to his hotel in the Rue Plâtrière. La Fontaine's answer is +well known. He accepted the offer. + + "Which of them loved the other the better?" + +It was in this magnificent abode, adorned by the pencil of Mignard, +that La Fontaine passed in peace the two years which yet remained to +him of life. He still visited the Academy, but he went more frequently +to church; he put a few psalms into verse, paraphrased the <i>Dies +Iræ</i>, and even yet occasionally found time for the composition of +fresh fables. It was in this way that Fénélon was able to give him a +share in the education of the young Duke of Burgundy, who furnished +subjects which the good old poet put into verse with an infantine +delight. The preceptor and his royal pupil rivalled each other in +delicate attentions towards the amiable old man, who had not lost by +his conversion either his good temper or his wit. Thanks to this high +protection, to the vigilance of friendship and the consolation of +religion, we shall be able to say, of him when he shall have closed his +eyes, "His end was as calm as the close of a summer day." + +La Fontaine passed away gently, after a few weeks of extreme weakness, +on the 13th of February, 1695, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. +Racine saw him die with extreme regret, and Fénélon, deeply affected, +expressed in exquisite terms the admiration of his contemporaries. +Let us quote the last sentences of this brief funeral oration:--"Read +him, and then say whether Anacreon be more gracefully playful; whether +Horace has adorned morality with more varied and more attractive +ornaments; whether Terence has painted the manners of mankind with more +nature and truth; and finally, whether Virgil himself is more touching +or more harmonious." We shall not seek for any further homage to his +genius; but, as regards his character, we obtain a precious testimony, +which has hitherto been unknown to his biographers. On learning of the +death of his old friend, Maucroix wrote these touching lines:--"My +very dear and faithful friend, M. de La Fontaine, is dead. We were +friends for more than fifty years; and I thank God that he allowed our +great friendship to survive to a good old age without any interruption +or diminution, and that I am able sincerely to say, that I have also +tenderly loved him, as much at the last as at the first. God, in his +merciful wisdom, has thought fit to take him to his own holy repose. +His soul was the most sincere and candid that I have ever met with, and +was totally free from anything like guile. I believe that he never told +a falsehood in his life." + +GERUZEZ. + + + + +THE LIFE OF ÆSOP, THE PHRYGIAN. + + +We have no certain records concerning the births of either Homer or +Æsop; and scarcely any important circumstance is known respecting +their lives: which is somewhat strange, since history readily fathers +facts far less interesting and useful. Many destroyers of nations, +many ignoble princes, too, have found chroniclers of the most +trifling particulars of their lives, and yet we are ignorant of the +most important of those of Homer and Æsop--that is to say, of the +two persons who have most deserved well of posterity: for Homer is +not only the father of the gods, but also of all good poets; whilst +Æsop seems to me to be one of those who ought to be reckoned amongst +the wise men for whom Greece is so celebrated, since he taught true +wisdom, and taught it with more skill than is employed by those who lay +down mere definitions and rules. Biographies of these two great men +have certainly been written, but the best critics regard both these +narratives as fabulous, and particularly that written by Planudes. +For my own part I cannot coincide in this criticism; for as Planudes +lived in an age when the remembrance of circumstances respecting Æsop +might well be still kept alive,[1] I think it is probable that he had +learnt by tradition the particulars he has left us concerning him. +Entertaining this belief, I have followed him, suppressing nothing +which he has said of Æsop,[2] save such particulars as have appeared to +me either too puerile or else wanting in good taste. + +Æsop was a Phrygian, a native of a town called Amorium, and was +born about the fifty-seventh Olympiad, some two centuries after the +foundation of Rome. It is hard to say whether he had to thank or to +complain of Nature; for whilst she gave him a keen intelligence, she +also afflicted him with a deformed body and ugly face--so deformed +and so ugly, indeed, that he scarcely resembled a man; and, moreover, +she had almost entirely deprived him of the use of speech. Encumbered +by such defects as these, if he had not been born a slave, he could +scarcely have failed to become one; but at the same time his soul ever +remained free and independent of the freaks of fortune. + +The first master whom he had sent him to labour in the fields, either +because he thought him unfitted for anything else, or because he +wished to avoid the sight of so disagreeable an object. It happened, +on a certain occasion, that this master, on paying a visit to his +country house, was presented by a peasant with some figs, which he +found so good that he had them carefully locked up, giving directions +to his butler, who was named Agathopus, to bring them to him when he +should leave the bath. It chanced that Æsop had occasion to visit the +mansion at this time, and as soon as he had entered it, Agathopus +took advantage of the opportunity to share the figs with some of +his friends, and then throw the blame of the theft on Æsop, never +supposing that he would be able to defend himself from the charge, as +he not only stammered, but appeared to be an idiot. The punishments +inflicted on their slaves by the ancients were very cruel, and this +was an aggravated theft. Poor Æsop threw himself at his master's feet, +and making himself understood as well as he could, he begged that his +punishment might be deferred for a few moments. This favour having been +accorded him, he fetched some warm water, and having drunk it in his +master's presence, thrust his finger down his throat. He vomited, and +nothing came up but the water as it went down. Having thus proved his +own innocence, he made signs that the others should be compelled to +do as he had done. Every one was astonished, scarcely believing that +Æsop could have devised such a scheme. Agathopus and his companions in +the theft drank the water and thrust their fingers down their throats, +as the Phrygian had done, and straightway the figs, still undigested, +re-appeared with the water. By this means Æsop proved his innocence, +and his accusers were punished for their theft and malice. + +On the following day, when the master had set off for town, and Æsop +was at his usual work, some travellers who had lost their way entreated +him, in the name of hospitable Jove, to show them their right road to +the town. Upon this, Æsop first prevailed upon them to repose for a +time in the shade, and then, after having refreshed them with a slight +collation, became himself their guide, not leaving them until he had +put them well on their right road. The good people raised their hands +to heaven, and besought Jupiter that he would not leave this charitable +act unrewarded. Æsop had scarcely left them, when, overcome with heat +and with weariness, he fell asleep. During his slumber he dreamt the +goddess Fortune appeared before him, and, having untied his tongue, +bestowed upon him that art of which he may be termed the author. +Startled with delight at such a dream, he at once awoke, and, leaping +up, exclaimed, "What is this? my voice is free, and I can pronounce the +words 'plough,' 'rake,' and, in fact, everything I choose!" + +This miracle was the cause of his changing masters, for a certain +Zenas, who acted as steward on the estate, and who superintended the +slaves, having beaten one outrageously for a fault which did not merit +such severe punishment, Æsop could not refrain from reproving him, and +threatened to make known his bad conduct. Zenas, with the purpose of +anticipating Æsop and avenging himself upon him, went to the master +and told him a prodigy had happened in his house--that the Phrygian +had recovered the use of speech, but that the wretch only made use of +his gift to blaspheme and say evil things of his master. The latter +believed him, and went beyond this, for he gave Æsop to Zenas, with +liberty to do what he liked with him. On returning to the fields, Zenas +was met by a merchant, who asked him whether he would sell him some +beast of burden. "I cannot do that," said Zenas; "but I will sell you, +if you like, one of our slaves;" and then sent for Æsop. On seeing +Æsop the merchant said, "Is it to make fun of me that you propose to +sell me such a thing as that? One would take him for an ape." Having +thus spoken, the merchant went off, half grumbling and half laughing +at the beautiful object which had just been shown him. But Æsop called +him back, and said, "Take courage and buy me, and you will find that +I shall not be useless. If you have children who cry and are naughty, +the very sight of me will make them quiet; I shall serve, in fact, +as a real old bogy." This suggestion so amused the merchant, that he +purchased Æsop for three oboli, and said to him, laughing, "The gods be +praised! I have not got hold of any great prize; but then on the other +hand I have not spent much money." + +Amongst other goods this merchant bought and sold slaves: and as he +was on his way to Ephesus to offer for sale those that he had, such +things as were required for use on the journey were laid on the backs +of each slave in proportion to his strength. Æsop prayed that, out of +regard to the smallness of his stature, and the fact that he was a new +comer, he might be treated gently; his comrades replied that he might +refrain from carrying anything at all, if he chose. But as Æsop made it +a point of honour to carry something like the rest, they allowed him to +select his own burden, and he selected the bread-basket, which was the +heaviest burden of all. Every one believed that he had done this out +of sheer folly; but at dinner-time the basket was lightened of some of +its load; the same thing happened at supper, then on the following day, +and so on; so that on the second day he walked free of any burden, and +was much admired for the keenness of his wit. + +As for the merchant, he got rid of his slaves, with the exception of +a grammarian, a singer, and Æsop, whom he intended to expose for sale +at Samos. Before taking them to the market-place he had the two first +dressed as well as he could, whilst Æsop, on the other hand, was only +clad in an old sack, and placed between his two companions to set them +off. Some intending purchasers soon presented themselves, and amongst +others a philosopher named Xantus. He asked of the grammarian and the +singer what they could do. "Everything," they replied; on which Æsop +laughed in a manner which may be well imagined, and, indeed, Planudes +asserts that his grin was so terrible that the bystanders were almost +on the point of taking flight. The merchant valued the singer at +a thousand oboli, the grammarian at three thousand, and said that +whoever first purchased one of the two should have the other thrown +in. The high price of the singer and the grammarian disgusted Xantus, +but, that he might not return home without having made some purchase, +his disciples persuaded him to buy that little make-believe of a man +who had laughed with such exquisite grace. He would be useful as a +scarecrow, said some; as a buffoon, said others. Xantus allowed himself +to be persuaded, and consented to give sixty oboli for Æsop, but before +he completed the bargain demanded of him, as he had of his comrades, +for what work he was fitted; to which Æsop replied, "For nothing, as +his two companions had monopolised all possible work." The clerk of the +market, taking the droll nature of the purchase into consideration, +graciously excused Xantus from paying the usual fee. + +Xantus had a wife of very delicate tastes, who was extremely particular +as to the style of persons she allowed to be about her. Xantus knew, +therefore, that to present his new slave to her in the ordinary way +would be to excite not only her ridicule but her anger. He resolved, +accordingly, to make the presentation a subject of pleasantry, and +spread a report through the mansion that he had purchased a young slave +as handsome as ever was seen. Having heard this, the young girls who +waited on the mistress were ready to tear each other to pieces for the +sake of having the new slave as her own particular servant; and their +astonishment at the appearance of the new-comer may well be imagined. +One hid her face in her hands, another fled, and a third screamed. The +mistress of the house, for her part, said that she could very well see +that this monster had been brought to drive her away from the house, +and that she had long perceived that the philosopher was tired of her. +Word followed word, and the quarrel at length became so hot that the +lady demanded her goods, and declared that she would return to her +parents. Xantus, however, by means of his patience, and Æsop by means +of his wit, contrived to arrange matters. The lady resigned her project +of insisting upon a divorce from bed and board, and admitted that she +might possibly in time become accustomed to even so ugly a slave. + +I have omitted many little circumstances in which Æsop displayed +the liveliness of his wit; for although they all serve as proofs of +the keenness of his mind, they are not sufficiently important to be +recorded. We will merely give here a single specimen of his good sense +and of his master's ignorance. The latter on a certain occasion went +to a gardener's to choose a salad for himself; and when the herbs had +been selected, the gardener begged the philosopher to satisfy him +with respect to something which concerned him, the philosopher, as +much as it concerned gardening in general, and it was this: that the +herbs which he planted and cultivated with great care did not prove +so valuable as those which the earth produced of itself without any +thought. Xantus attributed the whole thing to the will of Providence, +as persons are apt to do when they are puzzled. Æsop having overheard +the conversation, began to laugh, and having drawn his master aside, +advised him to say that he had made so general a reply because it was +not suited to his dignity to answer such trivial questions, but that he +would leave its solution to his slave-boy, who would doubtless satisfy +the inquirer. Then, Xantus having gone to walk at the other end of +the garden, Æsop compared the garden to a woman who, having children +by a first husband, should espouse a second husband who should have +children by a first wife. His new wife would not fail to form feelings +of aversion for her step-children, and would deprive them of their +due nourishment for the sake of benefiting her own. And it was thus +with the earth, which adopted only with reluctance the productions of +labour and culture, and reserved all her tenderness and benefits for +her own productions alone--being a step-mother to the former, and a +passionately fond mother of the latter. The gardener was so delighted +with this answer, that he offered Æsop the choice of anything in his +garden. + +Some time after this a great difference took place between Xantus +and his wife. The philosopher, being at a feast, put aside certain +delicacies, and said to Æsop, "Carry these to my loving pet;" upon +which Æsop gave them to a little dog of which his master was very fond. +Xantus, on returning home, did not fail to inquire how his wife liked +his present, and as the latter evidently did not understand what he +meant, Æsop was sent for to give an explanation. Xantus, who was only +too willing to find a pretext for giving his slave a thrashing, asked +him whether he had not expressly said, "Carry those sweet things from +me to <i>my loving pet?</i>" To which Æsop replied, that Xantus's loving +pet was not his wife, who for the least word threatened to sue for +a divorce, but his little dog, who patiently endured the harshest +language, and which, even after having been beaten, returned to be +caressed. The philosopher was silenced by this reply, but his wife +was thrown into such a passion by it that she left the house. Xantus +employed in vain every relation and friend to endeavour to induce her +to return, both prayers and arguments being equally lost upon her. In +this dilemma Æsop advised his master to have recourse to a stratagem. +He went to the market, and having bought a quantity of game and such +things, as though for a sumptuous wedding, managed to be met by one of +the lady's servants. The latter, of course, asked why he had bought +all those good things, upon which Æsop replied that his master, being +unable to persuade his wife to return to him, was about to wed another. +As soon as the lady heard this news she was naturally constrained, by +the spirit of jealousy and contradiction, to return to her husband's +side. She did not do this, however, without being resolved to be +avenged some time or other on Æsop, who day after day played some +prank, and yet always succeeded by some witty scheme in avoiding +punishment. The philosopher found his new slave more than his match. + +On a certain market-day Xantus, having resolved to regale some friends, +ordered Æsop to purchase the best of everything, and nothing else. +"Ah!" said the Phrygian to himself, "I will teach you to specify what +you want, and not to trust to the discretion of a slave." He went +accordingly and purchased a certain number of tongues, which he had +served up with various sauces as entrées, entremets, and so forth. +When the tongues first appeared at table, the guests praised the +choice of this dish, but when it appeared in constant succession, they +became disgusted with it; and Xantus exclaimed, "Did I not bid you buy +whatever was best in the market?" "Well," replied Æsop, "and what is +better than the tongue? It is the very bond of civilised life, the key +of all the sciences, the organ of reason and truth; by its aid we build +cities and organise municipal institutions; we instruct, persuade, and, +what is more than all, we perform the first of all duties, which is +that of offering up prayers to the gods." "Ah! well," said Xantus, who +thought that he would catch him in a trap at last, "purchase then for +me to-morrow the worst of everything; the same gentlemen who are now +present will dine with me, and I should like to give them some variety." + +On the following day Æsop had only the same dish served at table, +saying that "the tongue is the worst thing which there is in the world; +for it is the author of wars, the source of law-suits, and the mother +of every species of dissension. If it be argued that it is the organ +of truth, it may with equal veracity be maintained that it is the +organ of error, and, what is worse, of calumny. By its means cities +are destroyed, and men exhorted to the performance of evil deeds. If, +on the one hand, it sometimes praises the gods, on the other it more +frequently blasphemes them." Upon this one of the company said to +Xantus, that certainly this varlet was very necessary to him, for he +was more calculated than any one else to exercise the patience of a +philosopher. + +"About what are you in trouble?" said Æsop. "Ah! find me," replied +Xantus, "a man who troubles himself about nothing." Æsop went on the +following day to the market-place, and perceiving there a peasant who +regarded all things with the utmost stolidity, he took him to his +master's house. "Behold," said he to Xantus, "the man without cares +whom you have demanded." Xantus then bade his wife heat some water, put +it in a basin, and wash with her own hands the stranger's feet. The +peasant allowed this to be done, although he knew very well that he +did not deserve any such honour, and merely said to himself, "Perhaps +it is the custom in this part of the world." He was then conducted to +the place of honour, and took his seat without ceremony. During the +repast Xantus did nothing but blame his cook. Nothing pleased him. +If anything was sweet, he declared that it was too salt, and blamed +everything that was salt for being repulsively sweet. The man without +cares let him talk on, and meanwhile ate away with all his might. At +dessert a cake was placed on the table, which had been made by the +philosopher's wife, and which Xantus scoffed at, although it was in +reality very good. "Behold!" cried the philosopher, "the most wretched +pastry I have ever eaten. The maker of it must be burnt alive, for she +will never do any good in the world. Let faggots be brought!" "Wait," +said the peasant, "and I will go and fetch my wife, so that they may +be both burned at the same stake." This final speech disconcerted the +philosopher, and deprived him of the hope of being able to catch Æsop +in a trap. + +But it was not only with his master that Æsop played jokes and found +opportunities for witticisms. Xantus having sent him to a certain +place, he met on his way a magistrate, who asked him where he was +going; and Æsop, either out of thoughtlessness or for some other +reason, replied that he did not know. The magistrate, regarding this +answer as a mark of disrespect to himself, had him conveyed to prison. +But as the officers were hauling him off, Æsop cried out, "Did I not +give a proper reply? Could I know that I was going to prison?" Upon +this the magistrate had him released, and considered Xantus fortunate +in having so witty a slave. + +Xantus now began to perceive how important it was for his own interests +to have a slave in his possession who did him so much honour. Well, +it occurred on a certain occasion that Xantus, having a revel with +his disciples, it became soon evident to Æsop, who was in attendance, +that the master was becoming as drunk as the scholars. "The effects of +drinking wine," said he to them, "may be divided into three different +stages. In the first stage the result is pleasurable emotions; in the +second, mere intoxication; and in the third, madness." These remarks +were received with a roar of laughter, and the wine-bibbing went on +more furiously than before. Xantus, in fact, got so drunk that he lost +all command over his brains, and swore that he could drink up the sea. +This declaration, of course, raised a great guffaw amongst his boon +companions, and the natural result was, that Xantus, irritated beyond +all bounds, offered to wager his house that he would drink up the whole +sea, and, to bind the wager, deposited a valuable ring which he wore on +his finger. + +On the following day, when the vapours of the wine had evaporated, +Xantus was extremely surprised to find that his ring had disappeared +from his finger, and with horror learned from Æsop that not only his +ring, but his house also, were the forfeitures of the ridiculous wager +which he had made over-night. Vexed beyond measure, the philosopher +condescended to entreat Æsop to help him out of his difficulty. And +this is what came of the Phrygian's advice. When the day arrived for +the decision of the wager, the whole population of Samos rushed to the +sea-shore to be witnesses of the philosopher's defeat; but, just as +one of his disciples who had made the bet with him began to glory in +his victory, the philosopher said to the assembled multitude, "It is +quite true that I have bet that I would drink up the whole of the sea; +but I certainly never engaged to drink up all the rivers which flow +into it. I must request, therefore, that the gentleman with whom I +have made the bet will first prevent the rivers from flowing into the +sea. When he has done that, I shall be very happy to fulfil my portion +of the wager." It need scarcely be said that every one applauded +the adroitness with which Xantus had got out of his difficulty. The +disciple confessed that he was vanquished, begged his master's pardon, +and Xantus was conducted to his home with great applause. + +As a recompense for this happy hint, Æsop begged for his liberty, which +Xantus refused, saying that the moment for Æsop's freedom had not +yet come; but that if the gods should intimate that it had, he would +willingly grant it. If, for instance, he said, two crows should meet +his sight on his first leaving the house, he would grant the request; +but that if he should see one only, Æsop should continue to be a slave. +Æsop at once went out, whilst his master retired to a neighbouring +grove. Our Phrygian had scarcely sallied forth when he perceived two +crows caw-caw-ing together upon a lofty branch, and ran to tell his +master. Of course, Xantus hastened to see the fact for himself, and +before he could reach the spot one of the crows had flown away. "Ah, +ah!" said the philosopher to Æsop, "you are determined to be always +cheating me, are you? Here, you fellows, give this rascal a good +horse-whipping." This order was at once carried into effect, and whilst +the punishment was going on Xantus was invited to a repast, and he sent +word to say that he would attend at the time and place appointed. +"Alas!" exclaimed Æsop, "what lies, then, are the forewarnings of +heaven! Here am I, who have seen two crows, suffering the torments +of the lash, whilst my master, who has seen but one, is invited to a +nuptial feast." This sarcasm so pleased Xantus that he gave orders that +Æsop should be taken down from the triangles; but, nevertheless, he +could not as yet prevail upon himself to give the Phrygian his often +promised liberty. + +One day as the master and man were wandering amongst old monuments, +reading with much pleasure the inscriptions, Xantus came to one which +he could not understand, although he remained a considerable time +trying to explain it. It was composed of the first letters of certain +words, and the philosopher avowed that he could not solve the problem +which it presented. "If I help you to find a treasure by means of +those letters," said Æsop, "what will you give me?" Xantus promised +him his liberty and half the treasure. "They mean, then," said Æsop, +"that four paces from this column a treasure lies concealed." After +having dug for some time they found that such was indeed the case. +The philosopher was now called upon to keep his word; but he still +declined to do so. "May the gods forbid I should set you free," said he +to Æsop, "before you have explained the mystery of those letters. To +know that will be a greater treasure to me than what we have found." +"Well," said Æsop, "they have been engraved here as the first letters +of these words, Απόβας Βήματα, &c.; that is to say, <i>If you step back +four paces</i> and then dig, you will find a treasure." "As you are so +clever," said Xantus, "I should be wrong to part with you; so give up +the idea that you will ever be free." "And I, for my part," said Æsop, +"will denounce you to King Denys, for it is to him that the treasure +belongs, and these letters are the initials of other words which state +the fact." The philosopher, alarmed, told his slave to take his part +of the treasure and to say nothing about it; on which Æsop declared +that he was under no obligation to him, for that these letters had +been selected in such a manner that they contained a triple sense, and +signified still further, "As you go away, you will divide the treasure +which you have discovered." When they had returned home, Xantus ordered +that Æsop should be put in irons and imprisoned, for fear that he +should make the adventure known. "Alas!" cried Æsop, "is it thus that +these philosophers fulfil their promises? But do as you will, Master +Xantus, you shall set me free at last in spite of yourself." + +This prediction turned out to be true. A prodigy appeared, by which the +Samians were greatly frightened. An eagle carried off the public ring +(some seal apparently which was affixed to the proceedings of the Town +Council), and let it drop into the bosom of a slave. The philosopher +was consulted on the matter, both in his capacity as a philosopher +and as being one of the Republic. He asked for time, and had recourse +to his usual oracle, Æsop. The latter advised him to produce him in +public, since, if he succeeded well, the philosopher would have the +honour, and if he failed, he, Æsop, would alone bear the blame. Xantus +approved of this course, and presented him before the chief assembly of +the citizens. As soon as the Phrygian appeared, every one burst into a +fit of laughter; no one supposed that anything sensible could come from +the mouth of one so grotesquely formed. Æsop told them, however, that +they should not consider the fashion of the vase, but the liquor which +it contained; whereupon the Samians cried out to him to say without +fear what he thought of the prodigy. But Æsop excused himself on the +ground that he dare not. "Fortune," he said, "had raised a strife for +glory between the master and the slave. If the slave spoke badly, he +would be beaten; and if he spoke better than his master, he would still +be beaten." Upon this every one pressed Xantus to set the Phrygian +free. The philosopher obstinately resisted for some time; but at length +the provost of the town threatened to do so himself, in virtue of his +magisterial power. This had the desired effect, and Æsop was set free, +upon which he declared the Samians were threatened by this prodigy +with being reduced to a state of servitude, and that the carrying off +of their ring by the eagle was symbolic of a powerful monarch who was +desirous of subjugating them. + +Shortly afterwards Crœsus, King of the Lydians, announced to the +Samians that if they did not become his tributaries, he would compel +them to do so by force of arms. The greater number were for obeying his +commands. Æsop told them that Fortune offered to men the choice of two +roads: the one, that of liberty, rough and thorny at the commencement, +but afterwards very pleasant; and the other that of slavery, which at +first was easy, but was afterwards very laborious. This was, in effect, +plain advice to the Phrygians to defend their liberties; so they +dismissed the monarch's envoy, unsatisfied as to his demands. + +Crœsus at once made preparations to attack them, but was informed by +his ambassador that, as long as they had Æsop amongst them, he would +find it difficult to reduce them, such well-grounded confidence had +they in that person's wisdom. Crœsus accordingly sent to the Samians +to demand the Phrygian of them; declaring that, if they would give +him up to him, he would respect their liberty. The rulers of the +state regarded these conditions as advantageous, and thought that +the sacrifice of Æsop would be a cheap means of obtaining peace. The +Phrygian, however, made them change this opinion by telling them how +the wolves and the sheep, having made a treaty of peace, the latter +gave up their dogs as hostages. When they no longer had protectors, +the wolves were able to devour them with less trouble than formerly. +This fable had its effect, and the Samians then came to a resolution +precisely contrary to the one they had just adopted. Æsop, however, was +desirous of his own accord of going to Crœsus, and said that he could +serve them better if he were with the king than if he remained at Samos. + +When Crœsus saw him, he was astonished that so mean-looking a person +had been such an obstruction to his plans. "What!" he cried, "see +what sort of a creature it is that has dared to oppose my will!" Æsop +prostrated himself, and said, "A man in pursuit of locusts happened to +catch hold of a grasshopper, and was about to kill it, when the insect +exclaimed to the man, 'What have I done that you should kill me? I +have not devoured your corn; I have done you no sort of harm. My only +peculiarity is a loud voice, of which I make a very innocent use.' Ah! +mighty monarch! I resemble that grasshopper. I only possess powers of +speech, and I have not used them to injure you." Crœsus, moved with +admiration and pity, not only pardoned Æsop, but left the Samians alone +on his account. + +It was at this time that the Phrygian composed his fables, which he +left with the King of Lydia, when he was sent by the latter to the +Samians, who accorded him great honours. He then took it into his head +to travel about the world, and to hold high converse with those who +were generally regarded as philosophers; and at length it happened +that he obtained an exalted place in the esteem of Lycerus, King of +Babylon.[3] At this period kings were in the habit of sending to each +other problems to solve, on condition that certain tributes should be +paid, according as the questions were answered well or ill, on the one +side or the other; and in this sort of game Lycerus, by the assistance +of Æsop, rendered himself especially illustrious, whether as proposer +or answerer. + +In the course of time Æsop married, and as no children came to him +he adopted a young man of noble extraction, named Ennus. The latter +rewarded this kindness by ingratitude, and was, indeed, so base as to +sully his master's bed. This having come to the knowledge of Æsop, +he drove the rascal from his house, and the latter, in order to be +revenged upon him, forged letters by which it was made to appear +that Æsop was in the pay of kings who were at enmity with Lycerus. +Lycerus, deceived by the apparent genuineness of the seals and +signatures appended to those letters, ordered one of his officers, +named Hermippus, without seeking any further proofs of the Phrygian's +treachery, to put Æsop to death. This Hermippus, however, being a +friend of Æsop's, saved his life, and secretly fed him for some time in +a sepulchre, until Necténabo, King of Egypt, believing in the report +of Æsop's death, thought that he should now be able to compel Lycerus +to become his tributary. He commenced provoking him by defying him to +send him a man who could build a tower in the air, and who could answer +all sorts of questions. Lycerus, having read these letters, and having +submitted them to the most able men of his kingdom, found that none of +them were prepared to give satisfactory answers, and deeply regretted +Æsop. Upon this Hermippus confessed his disobedience of orders, and +produced Æsop, who was very well received, and, having proved his +innocence of the charge against him, was most graciously pardoned. +As for the letter from the King of Egypt, he only laughed at it, and +directed Lycerus to reply that he would send the required architects +in the spring, and also one who could answer all sorts of questions. +Lycerus replaced Æsop in possession of all his property, and at the +same time delivered up Ennus to him, to deal with him as he pleased. +Æsop received the latter as though he had been his own son, and only +punished him by recommending him to honour the gods and his king; to +make himself feared by his enemies; to render himself useful to others; +to treat his wife well, but at the same time never to trust her with +his secrets; to speak little, and to avoid the company of babblers; +never to give way to misfortune; to have a care for the morrow, +since it is better to enrich one's enemies by one's death than to be +troublesome to one's friends whilst living; and, above all, never to be +envious of the happiness or the good qualities of others, since that is +but to inflict an injury on ourselves. Ennus, touched by this advice, +and by Æsop's goodness towards him, died soon afterwards, as though he +had been stabbed to the heart. + +To return to Necténabo's challenge. Æsop procured some eagles, and +taught them (a difficult thing to do, but he did it) to carry each of +them a basket in which was a child, and when the spring-time had come, +he set off with them, to the great wonder of all the people whom he met +who had heard of his design. Necténabo, who had only sent his puzzle +because he had heard of Æsop's death, was greatly surprised as well as +greatly disgusted at seeing him. He asked Æsop, however, whether he +had brought the architects and the man who could answer all sorts of +questions. To which Æsop replied, that the latter was himself, and that +the architects should be produced at the proper place. They proceeded +to the open country, where the eagles soared up aloft with the +children, who cried out to those below to hand them up stones, mortar, +&c. "You see," said Æsop to Necténabo, "that I have brought you the +workmen; it is for you to supply them with the materials." Necténabo +acknowledged that in this Lycerus was the conqueror. He proposed, +however, this question to Æsop: "I have mares in Egypt which reply to +the neighings of the horses about Babylon. What may that mean?" The +Phrygian deferred his answer, and returning to his lodging, bade some +children take a cat and whip it along the streets. The Egyptians, +who worship this animal, regarded this as an extremely scandalous +proceeding, and snatching the creature from the children's hands, +went to complain to the king. The Phrygian was at once ordered to the +presence, and the king said to him, "Do you not know that this animal +is one of our gods? Why, then, have you had it treated in this way?" +"For an offence which he has committed against Lycerus," replied Æsop; +"for the other night it strangled an extremely courageous cock which +crowed at every hour." "You are a liar," replied the monarch; "how +could the cat have made so long a journey in so short a time?" "Just as +possible," rejoined Æsop, "as that your mares should hear our stallions +neigh at so great a distance." + +After this the king had certain ingenious persons brought from +Heliopolis, and gave them a great banquet, to which the Phrygian was +invited. During the repast they proposed to Æsop various enigmas, and +this amongst others: "There is a vast temple supported on a column, +which is surrounded by twelve cities, each of which has thirty +buttresses, and around these buttresses walk, one after the other, two +women, the one white, the other black." "Such a question as that," said +Æsop, "is only fit for little children. The temple is the world; the +column is the year; the cities are the months; the buttresses are the +days; around which move, after each other, the day and night." + +On the following day Necténabo assembled all his friends, and said to +them, "Is it to be borne that such a pigmy of a man, such an abortion, +should enable Lycerus to gain the prize and vanquish me?" One of them +then advised him to request Æsop to ask them questions about things +of which they had never heard. On this Æsop wrote out a memorandum, +according to which Necténabo acknowledged that he owed Lycerus two +thousand talents. The memorandum was placed sealed in Necténabo's +hands; and before it was opened Necténabo's friends declared that the +thing which he held in his hands was well known to them. When it was +opened, Necténabo exclaimed, "Behold the greatest falsehood that was +ever concocted! I take you all to witness!" "Certainly," they replied; +"we have never heard of such a thing." "Therefore," said Æsop, "I have +satisfied your demand." Upon this Necténabo dismissed Æsop, burdened +with presents both for himself and his master. + +This residence of Æsop in Egypt may, perhaps, have been the origin of +the story that he was a slave there with Rhodope, who, by the aid of +the presents made her by her lovers, erected one of the three Pyramids +which still exist, and are regarded with such admiration. The legend +refers to the smallest of the three, but the one built with the most +skill. + +Æsop, on his return to Babylon, was received by Lycerus with great +demonstrations of joy and good-will, and had a statue erected to him. +His desire, however, to see the world and acquire knowledge, induced +him to renounce all honours. He accordingly quitted the court of +Lycerus, where he enjoyed everything that could be wished, and took +leave of this prince, for the purpose of visiting Greece. Lycerus did +not allow him to leave without bestowing upon him the greatest marks +of affection, nor without making him swear that he would return to end +his days with him. + +Amongst the cities which he visited, Delphi was one of the principal. +The Delphians were very willing to listen to him, but they paid him no +honours, and Æsop, piqued by this lack of respect, compared them to +sticks which float on the water, which at some distance off seem to +be something important, but when close at hand are discovered to be +worthless. This comparison, however, cost him dear, for the Delphians +conceived such a dislike to him, and such a vehement desire of being +avenged on him (as well as being impressed by a fear that he would +defame them), that they resolved to compass his death. To attain this +end, they concealed amongst his goods one of their sacred vessels, +intending to accuse him of theft and sacrilege, and then to condemn him +to death. + +As Æsop was setting out from Delphi, and journeying towards Phocis, +the Delphians ran after him with every appearance of great wrath, and +accused him of having stolen their sacred vessel. Æsop denied the +theft with solemn oaths, but when his baggage was searched it was +found amongst it; therefore, all that Æsop could say did not prevent +them from treating him as an infamous criminal. He was conveyed back +to Delphi, loaded with irons, cast into a dungeon, and condemned to be +thrown headlong from a rock. It was in vain that, attempting to defend +himself with his ordinary weapons, he recited fables. The Delphians +only laughed at them. + +"The frog," he said, "had invited the rat to come to see her. In order +to enable him to pass across the pond, she tied him to her foot. As +soon as he was fairly on the water she tried to drag him to the bottom, +in order to drown him, and then make a meal of him. The unfortunate +rat resisted for some little time; and whilst he was struggling on +the surface, a bird of prey perceived him, pounced on him, and having +carried him off, together with the frog, who could not extricate +herself, made a meal of both. And thus, O Delphians, one more powerful +than either of us will avenge me. I shall perish; but you will perish +also." + +As Æsop was being led to his place of punishment, he found means to +escape, and entered a little chapel dedicated to Apollo, from which, +however, the Delphians tore him. "You violate this asylum," he said +to them, "because it is only a little chapel; but a day will come +when your wickedness will find no hiding-place--no, not even in your +great temple. The same thing will happen to you that happened to the +eagle, which, in spite of the prayers of the beetle, carried off the +leveret, which had taken refuge with the insect. The eagle's offspring +was punished for this, even when it had sought shelter in Jupiter's +bosom." The Delphians, however, little moved by these remarks, cast +Æsop headlong from the rock. + +Soon after Æsop's death a pestilence spread havoc throughout the +Delphian land. The inhabitants asked of the oracle by what means they +might appease the wrath of the gods; the oracle replied, that the only +means by which they could do this was by expiating their crime and +laying Æsop's ghost. On this a pyramid was immediately erected to his +memory. But it was not Heaven alone that testified its displeasure at +Æsop's murder; man also avenged the sage's death. Greece instantly sent +a commission to inquire into the circumstances, and inflicted a severe +punishment on the criminals.[4] + + +[1] The chronology of our worthy La Fontaine is here at fault, +for between the times of Æsop and Planudes there was an interval of +nearly twenty centuries; Æsop having flourished in the sixth century +before Christ, and Planudes having lived in the fourteenth century of +the Christian era. + +[2] This life of Æsop, composed by a monk of the fourteenth +century, is a legend which has replaced history by disfiguring it. If +we confine ourselves exclusively to the testimonies of the ancients, +we shall be able to tell in a few words all that has come down to us +that is at all likely to be true respecting the life of Æsop. Although +various authors have attributed his birth-place in turn to Mesembria in +Thrace, to Samos, and to Sardis in Lydia, it is almost certain that he +was born in Phrygia, either at Amorium, or in another city of the same +province named Cotisium. The deformity which has been attributed to him +is simply an exaggeration of a certain ugliness of countenance; and as +he also stammered, he has been declared to have been almost dumb. The +first portion of his life was passed in slavery, at first under the +Lydian philosopher Xantus, and then under Iadmo at Samos, where he had +for a companion the celebrated courtesan, Rhodope. Having been freed by +Iadmo, he went to the court of Crœsus, where he enjoyed great favour. +Employed by this prince to convey his presents to the temple at Delphi, +and certain liberalities to the inhabitants, the perfidy and resentment +of the people, whom he had not deemed worthy of his master's gifts, +were the cause of his death. He was accused of having stolen a sacred +vase which had been treacherously concealed amongst his goods. Both +gods and men avenged his death. His journeys to Babylon and in Egypt +are pure inventions. If we may believe Plutarch, he was present at the +banquet of the Seven Wise Men at Corinth. The contradictory accounts +given by authors as to the place of his birth may be explained by his +many journeys; for he has been said to have been born wherever he +resided. It will be seen by this brief sketch, that the life of Æsop by +Planudes is not a pure invention, and that we may say with respect to +it-- + + "However great the lie may he. + Therein some grains of truth we see." + + +[3] In the lists of the Kings of Babylon there is found no +monarch of this name, and this is another proof amongst many that the +life of Æsop by Planudes is a fiction. + +[4] The Athenians erected a statue to Æsop, which was the work +of the celebrated Lysippus, and it was placed opposite those of the +Seven Wise Men. + + + + +DEDICATION + + +TO + +MONSEIGNEUR THE DAUPHIN[1] + + +MONSEIGNEUR, + + +If there be anything ingenious in the republic of letters, it may be +said that it is the manner in which Æsop has deduced his moral. It +were truly to be wished that other hands than mine had added to the +fable the ornaments of poetry, since the wisest of the ancients[2] has +decided that they are not useless. I venture, Monseigneur, to submit to +you certain attempts in this manner, as being not altogether unsuited +to your earlier years. You are of an age[3] at which amusements +and sports are allowed to princes; but at the same time you should +devote some portion of your attention to serious reflections. This +is precisely what we meet with in the fables which we owe to Æsop. +At first sight they appear puerile; but their puerility is only the +covering of important truths. + +I do not doubt, Monseigneur, that you entertain a favourable opinion +of compositions which are at once so useful and so agreeable; for +what more can one desire than the useful and the agreeable? It is +these that have been the means of introducing knowledge amongst men. +Æsop has discovered the singular art of joining the one to the other. +The perusal of his works invariably plants in the soul the seeds of +virtue, and teaches it to know itself, without letting it feel that +it is pursuing a study, whilst, in fact, it even believes that it is +otherwise engaged. It is a means of instruction which has been happily +made use of by him whom His Majesty has selected as your tutor.[4] He +teaches you all that a prince should learn in such a manner that you +study not only without trouble, but even with pleasure. We hope much +from this; but, to tell the truth, there are things from which we hope +infinitely more, and those, Monseigneur, are the qualities which our +invincible monarch has bestowed upon you by the mere circumstance of +your birth, and the example which he gives you day by day. When you see +him forming such grand designs; when you see him calmly regarding the +agitation of Europe and the efforts which it makes to divert him from +his enterprises;[5] when you see him penetrating by a single effort +the heart of one province[6] bristling against him with insurmountable +obstacles, and subjugating another[7] within eight days, during that +season which is the most hostile of all others to the operations of +war, and when the courts of other princes are redolent only of peace +and pleasure; when you see him not content with merely subduing men, +but resolved also to vanquish the elements; and when, I say, on his +return from this expedition, in which he has conquered like another +Alexander, you see him ruling his people like another Augustus,--admit, +Monseigneur, that, in spite of the tenderness of your years, you +sigh for glory as ardently as your father, and that you await with +impatience the moment when you will be able to declare yourself his +rival in your worship of this divine mistress. But, no; you do not +await it, Monseigneur; you anticipate it; and in proof of this I need +no other witnesses than that noble restlessness, that vivacity, that +ardour, those many evidences of spirit, of courage, of greatness of +soul, which you so continually display. It must, doubtless, be the +greatest gratification to our monarch, as it is a most agreeable +spectacle to the universe, to see you thus growing up, a young plant +which will one day protect with its shadow peoples and nations. + +I might enlarge upon this subject. But as the plan I have proposed to +myself of amusing you is more suited to my powers than that of praising +you, I shall hasten to have recourse to my fables, and will add to +the truths I have told you but this--and that is, Monseigneur, that I +am, with respectful zeal, your very humble, very obedient, and very +faithful servant, + + DE LA FONTAINE. + + + +[1] Louis, Dauphin of France, son of Louis XIV., and of Marie +Theresa of Austria, was born at Fontainebleau on the 1st of November, +1661, and died at Meudon on the 14th of April, 1671. + +[2] Socrates. + +[3] The Dauphin was six years and five months old when La +Fontaine published the collection of fables to which this Dedication +is prefixed. It was completed on the 3rd of March, 1668. + +[4] Monseigneur the Dauphin had two tutors: the first being M. the +President de Perigni, and the second M. Bossuet, the Bishop of Meaux. +La Fontaine, in the above passage, alludes to M. de Perigni. + +[5] This refers to the Triple Alliance formed between England, +Spain, and Holland, for the purpose of checking the conquests of the +French monarch. + +[6] Flanders, in which the French king made a campaign in +1667, when he took Douai, Tournoi, Oudenarde, Ath, Alost, and Lille. + +[7] Franche-Comté, which he subdued in 1668. + + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The indulgence with which some of my fables have been received[1] has +induced me to hope that this present collection may meet with the same +favour. At the same time I must admit that one of the masters of our +eloquence[2] has disapproved of the plan of rendering these fables in +verse, since he believes that their chief ornament consists in having +none; and that, moreover, the restraints of poetry, added to the +severity of our language, would frequently embarrass me, and deprive +most of these narratives of that brevity which may be styled the very +soul of the art of story-telling, since without it a tale necessarily +becomes tame and languid. This opinion could only have been expressed +by a man of exquisite taste, and I will merely ask of him that he +will in some degree relax it, and will admit that the Lacedemonian +graces are not so entirely opposed to the French language, that it is +impossible to make them accord. + +After all, I have but followed the example, I will not say of the +ancients, which would not affect me in this case, but that of the +moderns. In every age, amongst every poetical people, Parnassus has +deemed this species of composition its own. Æsop's fables had scarcely +seen the light, when Socrates[3] thought proper to dress them in +the livery of the Muses; and what Plato says on this subject is so +pleasant, that I cannot refrain from making it one of the ornaments +of this Preface. He says, then, that Socrates having been condemned +to death, his punishment was respited on account of the occurrence +of certain fêtes. Cébès went to see him on the day of his death, and +Socrates then told him that the gods had several times warned him by +dreams that he should devote himself to music before he died. He did +not at first understand the signification of these dreams; for, as +music does not improve a man's moral nature, of what use could it be to +him?[4] It was evident, however, that there was some mystery involved, +for the gods never ceased to give him the same warning, and it had come +to him again on the occasion of one of the fêtes to which I have above +alluded. At length, after having deeply reflected on what it might be +that Heaven intended him to do, he concluded that as music and poetry +are so closely allied, it probably meant him to turn his attention to +the latter. There can be no good poetry without harmony; but to good +poetry fiction is also equally necessary, and Socrates only knew how +to tell the truth. At length, however, he discovered a compromise; +selecting such fables as those of Æsop, which always contain something +of truth in them, he employed the last moments of his life in rendering +them into verse. + +Socrates is not the only one who has regarded fables and poetry as +sisters. Phædrus has also declared that he held this opinion, and +by the excellence of his work we are able to judge of that of the +philosopher. After Phædrus, Avienus treated the same subject in the +same way; finally, the moderns have also followed their example, +and we find instances of this not only amongst foreign nations, but +in our own. It is true, that when our own countrymen devoted their +attention to this species of composition, the French language was so +different from what it now is, that we may regard them in this case +as foreigners. This has not deterred me from my enterprise. On the +contrary, I have flattered myself with the hope that, if I did not +pursue this career with success, I should at least earn the credit of +having opened the road. + +It may possibly happen that my labours will induce others to continue +the work; and, indeed, there is no reason why this species of +composition should be exhausted until there shall remain no fresh +fables to put in verse. I have selected the best; that is to say, those +which seem to me to be so; but, in addition to the fact that I may +have erred in my selection, it will be by no means a difficult thing +for others to give a different rendering even to those which I have +selected; and if their renderings should be briefer than mine, they +will doubtless be more approved. In any case, some praise will always +be due to me, either because my rashness has had a happy result, and +that I have not departed too far from the right path, or, at least, +because I shall have instigated others to do better. + +I think that I have sufficiently justified my design. As regards the +execution, I shall leave the public to be the judge. There will not be +found in my renderings the elegance and extreme brevity which are the +charms of Phædrus, for these qualities are beyond my powers; and that +being the case, I have thought it right to give more ornament to my +work than he has done. I do not blame him for having restricted himself +in length, for the Latin language enabled him to be brief; and, indeed, +if we take the trouble to examine closely, we shall find in this author +all the genuine characteristics and genius of Terence. The simplicity +of these great men is magnificent; but, not possessing the powers +of language of these authors, I cannot attain their heights. I have +striven, therefore, to compensate in some degree for my failings in +this respect, and I have done this with all the more boldness because +Quintilian has said that one can never deviate too much in narrative. +It is not necessary in this place to prove whether this be true or not; +it is sufficient that Quintilian has made the statement.[5] + +I have also considered that, as these fables are already known to all +the world, I should have done nothing if I had not rendered them in +some degree new, by clothing them with certain fresh characteristics. +I have endeavoured to meet the wants of the day, which are novelty and +gaiety; and by gaiety I do not mean merely that which excites laughter, +but a certain charm, an agreeable air, which may be given to every +species of subject, even the most serious. + +It is not, however, by the outward form which I have given it that +the value of my work should be alone judged, but by the quality of +the matter of which it is composed, and by its utility. For what is +there that is worthy of praise in the productions of the mind which is +not to be found in the apologue? There is something so grand in this +species of composition, that many of the ancients have attributed the +greater part of these fables to Socrates; selecting as their author +that individual amongst mortals who was most directly in communication +with the gods. I am rather surprised that they have not maintained +that these fables descended direct from heaven,[6] or that they have +not attributed their guardianship to some one special deity, as they +have done in the case of poetry and eloquence. And what I say is not +altogether without foundation, since, if I may venture to speak of that +which is most sacred in our eyes in the same breath with the errors of +the ancients, we find that Truth has spoken to men in parables; and +is the parable anything else than a fable? that is to say, a feigned +example of some truth, which has by so much the more force and effect +as it is the more common and familiar? + +It is for these reasons that Plato, having banished Homer from his +Republic, has given a very honourable place in it to Æsop. He maintains +that infants suck in fables with their mothers' milk, and recommends +nurses to teach them to them, since it is impossible that children +should be accustomed at too early an age to the accents of wisdom and +virtue. If we would not have to endure the pain of correcting our +habits, we should take care to render them good whilst as yet they are +neither good nor bad. And what better aids can we have in this work +than fables? Tell a child that Crassus, when he waged war against the +Parthians, entered their country without considering how he should +be able to get out of it again, and that this was the cause of the +destruction of himself and his whole army, and how great an effort will +the infant have to make to remember the fact! But tell the same child +that the fox and the he-goat descended to the bottom of a well for the +purpose of quenching their thirst, and that the fox got out of it by +making use of the shoulders and horns of his companion as a ladder, but +that the goat remained there in consequence of not having had so much +foresight, and that, consequently, we should always consider what is +likely to be the result of what we do,--tell a child these two stories, +I say, and which will make the most impression on his mind? Is it not +certain that he will cling to the latter version as more conformable +and less disproportioned than the other to the tenderness of his brain? +It is useless for you to reply that the ideas of childhood are in +themselves sufficiently infantine, without filling them with a heap of +fresh trifles. These trifles, as you may please to call them, are only +trifles in appearance; in reality, they are full of solid sense. And as +by the definition of the point, the line, the surface, and the other +well-known elements of form, we obtain a knowledge which enables us to +measure not only the earth but the universe, in the same manner, by +the aid of the truths involved in fables, we finally become enabled to +form correct opinions of what is right and what is wrong, and to take a +foremost place in the ranks of life. + +The fables which are included in this collection are not merely moral, +but are, to a certain extent, an encyclopædia of the qualities and +characteristics of animals, and, consequently, of our own; since we men +are, in fact, but a summary of all that is good and bad in the lower +ranks of creatures. When Prometheus determined upon creating man, he +took the dominant characteristic of each beast, and of these various +characteristics composed the human species. It follows, therefore, +that in these fables, in which beasts play so great a part, we may +each of us find some feature which we may recognise as our own. The +old may find in them a confirmation of their experiences, and the +young may learn from them that which they ought to know. As the latter +are but strangers in the world, they are as yet unacquainted with its +inhabitants; they are even unacquainted with themselves. They ought +not to be left in this ignorance, but should be instructed as to the +qualities of the lion, the fox, and so forth, and as to the why and +the wherefore a man is sometimes compared to the said lion and fox. To +effect this instruction is the object of these fables. + +I have already overstepped the ordinary limits of a Preface, but I have +still a few remarks to make on the principles on which the present work +has been constructed. + +The fable proper is composed of two parts, of which one may be termed +the body, and the other the soul. The body is the subject-matter of +the fable, and the soul is the moral. Aristotle will admit none but +animals into the domain of fabledom, and rigorously excludes from it +both men and plants. This rule, however, cannot be strictly necessary, +since neither Æsop, Phædrus, nor any of the fabulists[7] have observed +it; but, on the other hand, a moral is to a fable an indispensable +adjunct, and if I have in any instances omitted it, it is only in those +cases in which it could not be gracefully introduced, or in which it +was so obvious that the reader could deduce it for himself. The great +rule in France is to value only that which pleases, and I have thought +it no crime, therefore, to cancel ancient customs when they would not +harmonise with modern ones. In Æsop's time the fable was first related +as a simple story, and then supplemented by a moral which was distinct +in itself. Next Phædrus came, who was so far from complying with this +rule, that he sometimes transposed the moral from the end to the +commencement. For my own part, I have never failed to follow Æsop's +rule, except when it was necessary to observe a no less important one +laid down by Horace, to the effect that no writer should obstinately +struggle against the natural bent of his mind or the capabilities of +his subject. A man, he asserts, who wishes to succeed will never pursue +such a course, but will at once abandon a subject when he finds that he +cannot mould it into a creditable shape: + + "Et quæ + Desperat tractata intescere posse, relinquit."[8] + +It only remains to speak of the life of Æsop, whose biography by +Planudes is almost universally regarded as fabulous. It is supposed +that this writer formed the design of attributing a character and +adventures to his hero which should bear some resemblance to his +fables. This criticism, at first glance, appeared to me sufficiently +specious, but I have since found that it has no solid basis. It is +partly founded on what took place between Xantus and Æsop, and the +quantities of nonsense there contrasted. To which I reply, Who is the +sage to whom such things have not happened? The whole of the life even +of Socrates was not serious; and what confirms me in my favourable +opinion is, that the character which Planudes gives to Æsop is similar +to that which Plutarch gives him in his Banquet of the Seven Wise +Men--that is, the character of a keen and all-observant man. It may +be objected, I know, that the Banquet of the Seven Wise Men is in +itself a fiction; and I admit that it is possible to be doubtful about +everything. For my own part, I cannot well see why Plutarch should have +desired to deceive posterity on this subject, when he has professed +to be truthful on every other, and to give to each of his personages +his real character. But however this may be, I would ask, Shall I be +less likely to be believed if I endorse another man's falsehoods than +if I invented some of my own? I might certainly fabricate a tissue of +conjectures, and entitle them the "Life of Æsop;" but whatever air of +genuineness it might wear, no one could rely upon such a work, and, if +he must put up with fiction, the reader would always prefer that of +Planudes to mine. + + +[1] Before the year 1668, when the present collection of +fables was first published. Fontaine had already published a few +separately, and others had circulated in manuscript. + +[2] Patru, a celebrated lawyer, a member of the French +Academy, and one of La Fontaine's friends, who made a strange mistake +in trying to divert him from a species of composition which has +immortalised him. + +[3] These fables had long been known when Socrates came into +the world, and the Father of Philosophy only took the trouble to render +them into verse during the imprisonment which preceded his death. + +[4] The word Μουσιχὴ implied amongst the Greeks all the arts +to which the Muses devote themselves. It comprises the employments of +the mind in opposition to γυμναστιχὴ, which means the exercises of the +body. La Fontaine does not give Plato's meaning quite correctly. The +philosopher, at the commencement of the "Phædo," makes Socrates say +that, having been several times warned in dreams by the gods to study +music, he had only regarded it as an encouragement to persevere in +the pursuit of truth; but that, since his imprisonment, he had given +another interpretation to those warnings, and had decided that he +should better obey the wishes of the gods by making verses. + +[5] The following is the passage in Quintilian to which the +poet alludes:--"Ego vero narrationem, at si ullam partem orationis, +omni qua potest gratia et venere exorundam."--<i>Quint., "Hist Orat."</i> +lib. ix., cap iv. + +[6] La Fontaine has not ventured altogether to repair the +oversight of the ancients, for he has left the origin of fables a +doubtful point between heaven and earth, when he says, in a dedication +to Madame de Montespan, "The fable is a gift which comes from the +immortals; if it were the gift of man, he who gave it us would indeed +deserve a temple." + +[7] The word fabulist was invented by La Fontaine, and has +no equivalent either in the Greek or Latin languages. La Motte only +ventured to use it under cover of the authority of our poet; and the +French Academy, having declined to admit it into the first edition of +its Dictionary, which was published after La Fontaine's death, only did +so when it had been sanctioned by usage and public admiration. + +[8] <i>Hor.</i>, "<i>Ars Poet.</i>," v. 150. + + + + + TO + + MONSEIGNEUR THE DAUPHIN. + + + + I sing the heroes who call Æsop father, + Whose history, although deceitful rather, + Some truths and useful lessons, too, contains. + Everything finds a tongue in these my strains; + And what they say is wholesome: now and then + My animals I use as texts for men. + Illustrious branch of one the gods hold dear, + And by the whole world held in love and fear, + He who the proudest chiefs at once defies, + And counts the days by glorious victories, + Others will better tell, and higher soar, + To sing your mighty ancestors of yore; + But I would please thee in a humbler way, + And trace in verse the sketches I essay; + Yet if to please thee I do not succeed, + At least the fame of trying be my meed. + + + +[Illustration: THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT.] + + + + + FABLE I. + + + THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANT. + + + The Grasshopper, so blithe and gay, + Sang the summer time away. + Pinched and poor the spendthrift grew, + When the sour north-easter blew. + In her larder not a scrap, + Bread to taste, nor drink to lap. + To the Ant, her neighbour, she + Went to moan her penury, + Praying for a loan of wheat, + Just to make a loaf to eat, + Till the sunshine came again. + "All I say is fair and plain, + I will pay you every grain, + Principal and interest too, + Before harvest, I tell you, + On my honour--every pound, + Ere a single sheaf is bound." + The Ant's a very prudent friend, + Never much disposed to lend; + Virtues great and failings small, + This her failing least of all. + Quoth she, "How spent you the summer?" + "Night and day, to each new comer + I sang gaily, by your leave; + Singing, singing, morn and eve." + "You sang? I see it at a glance. + Well, then, now's the time to dance." + + + + + FABLE II. + + + THE RAVEN AND THE FOX. + + + Master Raven, perched upon a tree, + Held in his beak a savoury piece of cheese; + Its pleasant odour, borne upon the breeze, + Allured Sir Reynard, with his flattery. + "Ha! Master Raven, 'morrow to you, sir; + How black and glossy! now, upon my word, + I never--beautiful! I do aver. + If but your voice becomes your coat, no bird + More fit to be the Phœnix of our wood-- + I hope, sir, I am understood?" + The Raven, flattered by the praise, + Opened his spacious beak, to show his ways + Of singing: down the good cheese fell. + Quick the Fox snapped it. "My dear sir, 'tis well," + He said. "Know that a flatterer lives + On him to whom his praise he gives; + And, my dear neighbour, an' you please, + This lesson's worth a slice of cheese."-- + The Raven, vexed at his consenting, + Flew off, too late in his repenting. + + + + + FABLE III. + + + THE FROG THAT WISHED TO MAKE HERSELF AS BIG AS THE OX. + + + + A Frog, no bigger than a pullet's egg, + A fat Ox feeding in a meadow spied. + The envious little creature blew and swelled; + In vain to reach the big bull's bulk she tried. + "Sister, now look! observe me close!" she cried. + "Is this enough?"--"No!" "Tell me! now then see!" + "No, no!" "Well, now I'm quite as big as he?" + "You're scarcely bigger than you were at first!" + One more tremendous puff--she grew so large--she burst. + The whole world swarms with people not more wise: + The tradesman's villa with the palace vies. + Ambassadors your poorest Princelings send, + And every Count has pages without end. + + + + [Illustration: THE TWO MULES.] + + + + + FABLE IV. + + + THE TWO MULES. + + + Two Mules were journeying--one charged with oats, + The other with a tax's golden fruit. + This last betrayed that manner which denotes + Excessive vanity in man or brute. + Proudly self-conscious of his precious load, + He paced, and loud his harness-bells resounded; + When suddenly upon their lonely road, + Both Mules and masters were by thieves surrounded. + The money-bearer soon was put to death: + "Is this the end that crowns my high career? + Yon drudge," he murmured with his latest breath, + "Escapes unhurt, while I must perish here!" + "My friend," his fellow-traveller made reply, + "Wealth cannot always at the poor man scoff. + If you had been content to do as I, + You'd not at present be so badly off." + + + + + FABLE V. + + + THE WOLF AND THE DOG. + + + A Wolf, who was but skin and bone, + So watchful had the sheep-dogs grown, + Once met a Mastiff fat and sleek, + Stern only to the poor and weak. + Sir Wolf would fain, no doubt, have munched + This pampered cur, and on him lunched; + But then the meal involved a fight, + And he was craven, save at night; + For such a dog could guard his throat + As well as any dog of note. + + So the Wolf, humbly flattering him, + Praised the soft plumpness of each limb. + "You're wrong, you're wrong, my noble sir, + To roam in woods indeed you err," + The dog replies, "you do indeed; + If you but wish, with me you'll feed. + Your comrades are a shabby pack, + Gaunt, bony, lean in side and back, + Pining for hunger, scurvy, hollow, + Fighting for every scrap they swallow. + Come, share my lot, and take your ease." + "What must I do to earn it, please?" + "Do?--why, do nothing! Beggar-men + Bark at and chase; fawn now and then + At friends; your master always flatter. + Do this, and by this little matter + Earn every sort of dainty dish-- + Fowl-bones or pigeons'--what you wish-- + Aye, better things; and with these messes, + Fondlings, and ceaseless kind caresses." + The Wolf, delighted, as he hears + Is deeply moved--almost to tears; + When all at once he sees a speck, + A gall upon the Mastiff's neck. + "What's that?"--"Oh, nothing!" "Nothing?"--"No!" + "A slight rub from the chain, you know." + "The chain!" replies the Wolf, aghast; + "You are not free?--they tie you fast?" + "Sometimes. But, law! what matters it?"-- + "Matters so much, the rarest bit + Seems worthless, bought at such a price." + The Wolf, so saying, in a trice, + Ran off, and with the best goodwill, + And very likely's running still. + + + + + FABLE VI. + + + THE HEIFER, THE SHE-GOAT, AND THE LAMB, IN + PARTNERSHIP WITH THE LION. + + + The Heifer, Lamb, and Nanny-goat were neighbours, + With a huge Lion living close at hand, + They shared the gains and losses of their labours + (All this was long ago, you understand). + One day a stag was taken as their sport; + The Goat, who snared him, was of course enraptured, + And sent for all the partners of her toil, + In order to divide the treasure captured. + They came. The Lion, counting on his claws, + Quartered the prey, and thus addressed the trio-- + + "The parts are four. I take the first, because + I am your monarch, and my name is Leo: + Being the strongest, I annex the second; + As bravest, I can claim another share, + Should any touch the fourth, or say I reckoned + Unjustly, I shall kill him. So beware." + + + + + FABLE VII. + + + THE WALLET. + + + Said Jupiter one day, "Let all that breathe + Come and obeisance make before my throne. + If at his shape or being any grieve, + Let them cast fears aside. I'll hear their groan. + Come, Monkey, you be first to speak. You see + Of animals this goodly company; + Compare their beauties with your own. + Are you content?" "Why not? Good gracious me!" + The monkey said, + No whit afraid-- + "Why not content? I have four feet like others, + My portrait no one sneers at--do they, brothers? + But cousin Bruins hurriedly sketched in, + And no one holds his likeness worth a pin." + Then came the Bear. One thought he would have found + Something to grumble at. Grumble! no, not he. + He praised his form and shape, but, looking round, + Turned critic on the want of symmetry + Of the huge shapeless Elephant, whose ears + Were much too long; his tail too short, he fears. + The Elephant was next. + Though wise, yet sadly vexed + To see good Madam Whale, to his surprise, + A cumbrous mountain of such hideous size. + Quick Mrs. Ant thinks the Gnat far too small, + Herself colossal.--Jove dismisses all, + Severe on others, with themselves content. + 'Mong all the fools who that day homeward went, + Our race was far the worst: our wisest souls + Lynxes to others', to their own faults moles. + Pardon at home they give, to others grace deny, + And keep on neighbours' sins a sleepless eye. + Jove made us so, + As we all know, + We wear our Wallets in the self-same way-- + This current year, as in the bye-gone day: + In pouch behind our own defects we store, + The faults of others in the one before. + + + + + FABLE VIII. + + + THE SWALLOW AND THE LITTLE BIRDS. + + + A Swallow, in his travels o'er the earth, + Into the law of storms had gained a peep; + Could prophesy them long before their birth, + And warn in time the ploughmen of the deep. + Just as the month for sowing hemp came round, + The Swallow called the smaller birds together. + "Yon' hand," said he, "which strews along the ground + That fatal grain, forbodes no friendly weather. + The day will come, and very soon, perhaps, + When yonder crop will help in your undoing-- + + + [Illustration: THE SWALLOW AND THE LITTLE BIRDS.] + + + When, in the shape of snares and cruel traps, + Will burst the tempest which to-day is brewing. + Be wise, and eat the hemp up now or never; + Take my advice." But no, the little birds, + Who thought themselves, no doubt, immensely clever, + Laughed loudly at the Swallow's warning words. + Soon after, when the hemp grew green and tall, + He begged the Birds to tear it into tatters. + "Prophet of ill," they answered one and all, + "Cease chattering about such paltry matters." + The hemp at length was ripe, and then the Swallow, + Remarking that "ill weeds were never slow," + Continued--"Though it's now too late to follow + The good advice I gave you long ago, + You still may manage to preserve your lives + By giving credit to the voice of reason. + Remain at home, I beg you, with your wives, + And shun the perils of the coming season. + You cannot cross the desert or the seas, + To settle down in distant habitations; + Make nests, then, in the walls, and there, at ease, + Defy mankind and all its machinations." + They scorned his warnings, as in Troy of old + Men scorned the lessons that Cassandra taught. + And shortly, as the Swallow had foretold, + Great numbers of them in the traps were caught. + + To instincts not our own we give no credit, + And till misfortune comes, we never dread it. + + + [Illustration: THE TOWN RAT AND THE COUNTRY RAT.] + + + + + FABLE IX. + + + THE TOWN RAT AND THE COUNTRY RAT. + + + A Rat from town, a country Rat + Invited in the civilest way; + For dinner there was just to be + Ortolans and an entremet. + + Upon a Turkey carpet soft + The noble feast at last was spread; + I leave you pretty well to guess + The merry, pleasant life they led. + + Gay the repast, for plenty reigned, + Nothing was wanting to the fare; + But hardly had it well begun + Ere chance disturbed the friendly pair. + + A sudden racket at the door + Alarmed them, and they made retreat; + The City Rat was not the last, + His comrade followed fast and fleet. + + The noise soon over, they returned, + As rats on such occasions do; + "Come," said the liberal citizen, + "And let us finish our ragout." + + "Not a crumb more," the rustic said; + "To-morrow you shall dine with me; + Don't think me jealous of your state, + Or all your royal luxury; + + "But then I eat so quiet at home, + And nothing dangerous is near; + Good-bye, my friend, I have no love + For pleasure when it's mixed with fear." + + + + + FABLE X. + + + THE MAN AND HIS IMAGE. + + FOR M. THE DUKE DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. + + + A man who had no rivals in the love + He bore himself, thought that he won the bell + From all the world, and hated every glass + That truths less palatable tried to tell. + Living contented in the error, + Of lying mirrors he'd a terror. + Officious Fate, determined on a cure, + Raised up, where'er he turned his eyes, + Those silent counsellors that ladies prize. + Mirrors old and mirrors newer; + Mirrors in inns and mirrors in shops; + Mirrors in pockets of all the fops; + Mirrors in every lady's zone. + What could our poor Narcissus do? + He goes and hides him all alone + In woods that one can scarce get through. + No more the lying mirrors come, + But past his new-found savage home + A pure and limpid brook runs fair.-- + He looks. His ancient foe is there! + His angry eyes stare at the stream, + He tries to fancy it a dream. + Resolves to fly the odious place, and shun + The image; yet, so fair the brook, he cannot run. + + My meaning is not hard to see; + No one is from this failing free. + The man who loved himself is just the Soul, + The mirrors are the follies of all others. + (Mirrors are faithful painters on the whole;) + And you know well as I do, brothers, that the brook + Is the wise "Maxim-book."[1] + + + [1] Rochefoucauld's Maxims are the most extraordinary + dissections of human selfishness ever made. + + + + + FABLE XI. + + + THE DRAGON WITH MANY HEADS, AND THE DRAGON + WITH MANY TAILS. + + + An Envoy of the Grand Signor + (I can't say more) + One day, before the Emperor's court, + Vaunted, as some historians report, + That his royal master had a force + Outnumbering all the foot and horse + The Kaiser could bring to the war. + Then spoke a choleric attendant: + "<i>Our</i> Prince has more than <i>one</i> dependant + That keeps an army at his own expense." + The Pasha (man of sense), + Replied: "By rumour I'm aware + What troops the great electors spare, + And that reminds me, I am glad, + Of an adventure I once had, + Strange, and yet true. + I'll tell it you. + + Once through a hedge the hundred heads I saw + Of a huge Hydra show. + My blood, turned ice, refused to flow: + And yet I felt that neither fang nor claw + Could more than scare me--for no head came near. + There was no room. I cast off fear. + While musing on this sight, + Another Dragon came to light. + Only one head this time; + But tails too many to count up in rhyme. + The fit again came on, + Worse than the one just gone. + The head creeps first, then follows tail by tail; + Nothing can stop their road, nor yet assail; + One clears the way for all the minor powers: + The first's <i>your</i> Emperor's host, the second <i>ours</i>." + + + [Illustration: THE WOLF AND THE LAMB.] + + + + + FABLE XII. + + + THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. + + + The reasoning of the strongest has such weight, + None can gainsay it, or dare prate, + No more than one would question Fate. + A Lamb her thirst was very calmly slaking, + At the pure current of a woodland rill; + A grisly Wolf, by hunger urged, came making + A tour in search of living things to kill. + "How dare you spoil my drink?" he fiercely cried; + There was grim fury in his very tone; + "I'll teach you to let beasts like me alone. + "Let not your Majesty feel wrath," replied + The Lamb, "nor be unjust to me, from passion; + I cannot, Sire, disturb in any fashion + The stream which now your Royal Highness faces, + I'm lower down by at least twenty paces." + "You spoil it!" roared the Wolf; "and more, I know, + You slandered me but half a year ago." + "How could I do so, when I scarce was born?" + The Lamb replied; "I was a suckling then." + "Then 'twas your brother held me up to scorn." + "I have no brother." "Well, 'tis all the same; + At least 'twas some poor fool that bears your name. + You and your dogs, both great and small, + Your sheep and shepherds, one and all, + Slander me, if men say but true, + And I'll revenge myself on you." + Thus saying, he bore off the Lamb + Deep in the wood, far from its dam. + And there, not waiting judge nor jury, + Fell to, and ate him in his fury. + + + + + FABLE XIII. + + + THE ROBBERS AND THE ASS. + + + Two Thieves were fighting for a prize, + A Donkey newly stolen; sell or not to sell-- + That was the question--bloody fists, black eyes: + While they fought gallantly and well, + A third thief happening to pass, + Rode gaily off upon the ass. + + The ass is some poor province it may be; + The thieves, that gracious potentate, or this, + Austria, Turkey, or say Hungary; + Instead of two, I vow I've set down three + (The world has almost had enough of this), + And often neither will the province win: + For third thief stepping in, + 'Mid their debate and noisy fray, + With the disputed donkey rides away. + + + [Illustration: THE ROBBERS AND THE ASS.] + + + + + FABLE XIV. + + + DEATH AND THE WOODCUTTER. + + + A poor Woodcutter, covered with his load, + Bent down with boughs and with a weary age, + Groaning and stooping, made his sorrowing stage + To reach his smoky cabin; on the road, + Worn out with toil and pain, he seeks relief + By resting for a while, to brood on grief.-- + What pleasure has he had since he was born? + In this round world is there one more forlorn? + Sometimes no bread, and never, never rest. + Creditors, soldiers, taxes, children, wife, + The corvée. Such a life! + The picture of a miserable man--look east or west. + He calls on Death--for Death calls everywhere-- + Well,--Death is there. + He comes without delay, + And asks the groaner if he needs his aid. + "Yes," said the Woodman, "help me in my trade. + Put up these faggots--then you need not stay." + + Death is a cure for all, say I, + But do not budge from where you are; + Better to suffer than to die, + Is man's old motto, near and far. + + + [Illustration: DEATH AND THE WOODCUTTER.] + + + + + FABLE XV. + + + SIMONIDES RESCUED BY THE GODS. + + + Three sorts of persons can't he praised too much: + The Gods, the King, and her on whom we doat. + So said Malherbe, and well he said, for such + Are maxims wise, and worthy of all note. + Praise is beguiling, and disliked by none: + A lady's favour it has often won. + Let's see whate'en the gods have ere this done + To those who praised them. Once, the eulogy + Of a rough athlete was in verse essayed. + Simonides, the ice well broken, made + A plunge into a swamp of flattery. + The athlete's parents were poor folk unknown; + The man mere lump of muscle and of bone-- + No merit but his thews, + A barren subject for the muse. + The poet praised his hero all he could, + Then threw him by, as others would. + Castor and Pollux bringing on the stage, + He points out their example to such men, + And to all strugglers in whatever age; + Enumerates the places where they fought, + And why they vanished from our mortal ken. + In fact, two-thirds of all his song was fraught + With praise of them, page after page. + A Talent had the athlete guaranteed, + But when he read he grudged the meed, + And gave a third: frank was his jest,-- + "Castor and Pollux pay the rest; + Celestial pair! they'll see you righted,-- + Still I will feast you with the best; + Sup with me, you will be delighted; + The guests are all select, you'll see, + My parents, and friends loved by me; + Be thou, too, of the company." + Simonides consents, partly, perhaps, in fear + To lose, besides his due, the paltry praise. + He goes--they revel and discuss the cheer; + A merry night prepares for jovial days. + A servant enters, tells him at the door + Two men would see him, and without delay. + He leaves the table, not a bit the more + Do jaws and fingers cease their greedy play. + These two men were the Gemini he'd praised. + They thanked him for the homage he had paid; + Then, for reward, told him the while he stayed + The doom'd house would be rased, + And fall about the ears + Of the big boxer and his peers. + The prophecy came true--yes, every tittle; + Snap goes a pillar, thin and brittle. + The roof comes toppling down, and crashes + The feast--the cups, the flagons smashes. + Cupbearers are included in the fall; + Nor is that all: + To make the vengeance for the bard complete, + The athlete's legs are broken too. + A beam snapped underneath his feet, + While half the guests exclaim, + "Lord help us! we are lame." + Fame, with her trumpet, heralds the affair; + Men cry, "A miracle!" and everywhere + They give twice over, without scoff or sneer, + To poet by the gods held dear. + No one of gentle birth but paid him well, + Of their ancestors' deeds to nobly tell. + + Let me return unto my text: it pays + The gods and kings to freely praise; + Melpomene, moreover, sometimes traffic makes + Of the ingenious trouble that she takes. + Our art deserves respect, and thus + The great do honour to themselves who honour us. + Olympus and Parnassus once, you see, + Were friends, and liked each other's company. + + + + + FABLE XVI. + + + DEATH AND THE UNHAPPY MAN. + + + A Miserable Man incessant prayed + To Death for aid. + "Oh, Death!" he cried. "I love thee as a friend! + Come quickly, and my life's long sorrows end!" + Death, wishing to oblige him, ran, + Knocked at the door, entered, and eyed the man. + "What do I see? begone, thou hideous thing! + The very sight + Strikes me with horror and affright! + Begone, old Death!--Away, thou grisly King!" + Mecænas (hearty fellow) somewhere said; + "Let me be gouty, crippled, impotent and lame, + 'Tis all the same. + So I but keep on living. Death, thou slave! + Come not at all, and I shall be content." + And that was what the man I mention meant. + + + [Illustration: THE WOLF TURNED SHEPHERD.] + + + + + FABLE XVII. + + + THE WOLF TURNED SHEPHERD. + + + + A Wolf who found in cautious flocks + His tithes beginning to be few, + Thought that he'd play the part of Fox, + A character at least quite new. + A Shepherd's hat and coat he took, + And from a branch he made a hook; + Nor did the pastoral pipe forget. + To carry out his schemes he set, + He would have liked to write upon his hat, + "I'm Guillot, Shepherd of these sheep!" + + And thus disguised, he came, pit-pat, + And softly stole where fast asleep + Guillot himself lay by a stack, + His dog close cuddling at his back; + His pipe too slept; and half the number + Of the plump sheep was wrapped in slumber. + He's got the dress--could he but mock + The Shepherd's voice, he'd lure the flock: + He thought he could. + That spoiled the whole affair--he'd spoken; + His howl re-echoed through the wood. + The game was up--the spell was broken! + They all awake, dog, Shepherd, sheep. + Poor Wolf, in this distress + And pretty mess, + In clumsy coat bedight, + Could neither run away nor fight. + + At last the bubble breaks; + There's always some mistake a rascal makes. + The Wolf like Wolf must always act; + That is a very certain fact. + + + + + FABLE XVIII. + + + THE CHILD AND THE SCHOOLMASTER. + + + + + This fable serves to tell, or tries to show + A fools remonstrance often is in vain. + A child fell headlong in the river's flow, + While playing on the green banks of the Seine: + A willow, by kind Providence, grew there, + The branches saved him (rather, God's good care); + Caught in the friendly boughs, he clutched and clung. + The master of the school just then came by. + "Help! help! I'm drowning!" as he gulping hung, + He shouts. The master, with a pompous eye, + Turns and reproves him with much gravity. + "You little ape," he said, "now only see + What comes of all your precious foolery; + A pretty job such little rogues to guard. + Unlucky parents who must watch and thrash. + Such helpless, hopeless, good-for-nothing trash. + I pity them; their woes I understand." + Having said this, he brought the child to land. + + In this I blame more people than you guess-- + Babblers and censors, pedants, all the three; + Such creatures grow in numbers to excess, + Some blessing seems to swell their progeny. + In every crisis theories they shape, + And exercise their tongues with perfect skill; + Ha! my good friends, first save me from the scrape, + Then make your long speech after, if you will. + + + + + FABLE XIX. + + + THE PULLET AND THE PEARL. + + + A Fowl, while scratching in the straw, + Finding a pearl without a flaw, + Gave it a lapidary of the day. + "It's very fine, I must repeat; + And yet a single grain of wheat + Is very much more in my way." + + A poor uneducated lad + A manuscript as heirloom had. + He took it to a bookseller one day: + "I know," said he, "it's very rare; + But still, a guinea as my share + Is very much more in my way." + + + + + FABLE XX. + + + THE DRONES AND THE BEES. + + + A Workman by his work you always know. + Some cells of honey had been left unclaimed. + The Drones were first to go + The Bees, to try and show + That they to take the mastership were not ashamed. + Before a Wasp the cause at last they bring; + It is not easy to decide the thing. + The witnesses deposed that round the hive + They long had seen wing'd, buzzing creatures fly, + Brown, and like bees. "Yes, true; but, man alive, + The Drones are also brown; so do not try + To prove it so." The Wasp, on justice bent, + Made new investigations + (Laws of all nations). + To throw more light upon the case, + Searched every place, + Heard a whole ants' nest argue face to face, + Still it grew only darker; that's a fact + (Lease or contract?) + "Oh, goodness gracious! where's the use, my son?" + Cried a wise Bee; + "Why, only see, + For six months now the cause is dragging on, + And we're no further than we were at first; + But what is worst, + The honey's spoiling, and the hive is burst. + 'Tis time the judge made haste, + The matter's simmered long enough to waste, + Without rebutters or <i>fi, fa</i>, + Without rejoinders or <i>ca, sa</i>, + John Doe, + Or Richard Roe. + Let's go to work, the wasps and us, + We'll see who best can build and store + The sweetest juice." It's settled thus. + The Drones do badly, as they've done of yore; + The art's beyond their knowledge, quite beyond. + The Wasp adjudges that the honey goes + Unto the Bees: would those of law so fond + Could thus decide the cases justice tries. + Good common sense, instead of Coke and code, + (The Turks in this are really very wise,) + Would save how many a debtor's heavy load. + Law grinds our lives away + With sorrow and delay. + In vain we groan, and grudge + The money given to our long-gowned tutors. + Always at last the oyster's for the judge, + The shells for the poor suitors. + + + + [Illustration: THE OAK AND THE REED.] + + + + + FABLE XXI. + + + THE OAK AND THE REED. + + + The Oak said one day to a river Reed, + "You have a right with Nature to fall out. + Even a wren for you's a weight indeed; + The slightest breeze that wanders round about + Makes you first bow, then bend; + While my proud forehead, like an Alp, braves all, + Whether the sunshine or the tempest fall-- + A gale to you to me a zephyr is. + Come near my shelter: you'll escape from this; + You'll suffer less, and everything will mend. + I'll keep you warm + From every storm; + And yet you foolish creatures needs must go, + And on the frontiers of old Boreas grow. + Nature to you has been, I think, unjust." + "Your sympathy," replied the Reed, "is kind, + And to my mind + Your heart is good; and yet dismiss your thought. + For us, no more than you, the winds are fraught + With danger, for I bend, but do not break. + As yet, a stout resistance you can make, + And never stoop your back, my friend; + But wait a bit, and let us see the end." + Black, furious, raging, swelling as he spoke, + The fiercest wind that ever yet had broke + From the North's caverns bellowed through the sky. + The Oak held firm, the Reed bent quietly down. + The wind blew faster, and more furiously, + Then rooted up the tree that with its head + Had touched the high clouds in its majesty, + And stretched far downwards to the realms of dead. + + + + + FABLE XXII. + + + AGAINST THOSE WHO ARE HARD TO PLEASE. + + + Had I when born, from fair Calliope + Received a gift such as she can bestow + Upon her lovers, it should pass from me + To Æsop, and that very soon, I know; + I'd consecrate it to his pleasant lies. + Falsehood and verse have ever been allies; + Far from Parnassus, held in small esteem, + I can do little to adorn his theme, + Or lend a fresher lustre to his song. + I try, that's all--and plan what one more strong + May some day do-- + And carry through. + Still, I have written, by-the-bye, + The wolf's speech and the lamb's reply. + What's more, there's many a plant and tree + Were taught to talk, and all by me. + Was that not my enchantment, eh? + "Tut! Tut!" our peevish critics say, + "Your mighty work all told, no more is + Than half-a-dozen baby stories. + Write something more authentic then, + And in a higher tone."--Well, list, my men!-- + After ten years of war around their towers, + The Trojans held at bay the Grecian powers; + A thousand battles on Scamander's plain, + Minings, assaults, how many a hero slain! + Yet the proud city stoutly held her own. + Till, by Minerva's aid, a horse of wood, + Before the gates of the brave city stood. + Its flanks immense the sage Ulysses hold, + Brave Diomed, and Ajax, churlish, bold; + These, with their squadrons, will the vast machine + Bear into fated Troy, unheard, unseen-- + The very gods will be their helpless prey. + Unheard-of stratagem; alas! the day, + That will the workmen their long toil repay.-- + "Enough, enough!" our critics quickly cry, + "Pause and take breath; you'll want it presently. + Your wooden horse is hard to swallow, + With foot and cavalry to follow. + Why this is stranger stuff, now, an' you please, + Than Reynard cheating ravens of their cheese; + What's more, this grand style does not suit you well, + That way you'll never bear away the bell." + Well, then, we'll lower the key, if such your will is.-- + Pensive, alone, the jealous Amaryllis + Sighed for Alcippus--in her care, + She thinks her sheep and dog alone will share. + Tircis, perceiving her, slips all unseen + Behind the willows' waving screen, + And hears the shepherdess the zephyrs pray, + To bear her words to lover far away.-- + "I stop you at that rhyme," + Cries out my watchful critic, + Of phrases analytic; + "It's not legitimate; it cannot pass this time. + And then I need not show, of course, + The line wants energy and force; + It must be melted o'er again, I say." + You paltry meddler, prate no more, + I write my stories at my ease. + Easier to sit and plan a score, + Than such a one as you to please. + + Fastidious men and overwise, + There's nothing ever satisfies. + + + [Illustration: THE COUNCIL HELD BY THE RATS.] + + + + + FABLE XXIII. + + + THE COUNCIL HELD BY THE RATS. + + + A Tyrant Cat, by surname Nibblelard, + Through a Rat kingdom spread such gloom + By waging war and eating hard, + Only a few escaped the tomb; + The rest, remaining in their hiding-places, + Like frightened misers crouching on their pelf, + Over their scanty rations made wry faces, + And swore the Cat was old King Nick himself. + One day, the terror of their life + Went on the roof to meet his wife: + During the squabbling interview + (I tell the simple truth to you), + The Rats a chapter called. The Dean, + A cautious, wise, old Rat, + Proposed a bell to fasten on the Cat. + "This should be tried, and very soon, I mean; + So that when war was once begun, + Safe underground their folk could run,-- + This was the only thing that could be done." + With the wise Dean no one could disagree; + Nothing more prudent there could be: + The difficulty was to fix the bell! + One said, "I'm not a fool; you don't catch me:" + "I hardly seem to see it!" so said others. + The meeting separated--need I tell, + The end was words--but words. Well, well, my brothers, + There have been many chapters much the same; + Talking, but never doing--there's the blame. + Chapters of monks, not rats--just so! + Canons who fain would bell the cats, you know. + + To talk, and argue, and refute, + The court has lawyers in long muster-roll; + But when you want a man who'll execute, + You cannot find a single soul. + + + + + FABLE XXIV. + + + THE WOLF PLEADING AGAINST THE FOX BEFORE THE APE. + + + A Wolf who'd suffered from a thief, + His ill-conditioned neighbour Mr. Fox + Brought up (and falsely, that is my belief) + Before the Ape, to fill the prisoner's box. + The plaintiff and defendant in this case + Distract the place + With questions, answers, cries, and boisterous speeches, + So angry each is. + In an Ape's memory no one saw + An action so entangled as to law. + Hot and perspiring was the judge's face, + He saw their malice, and, with gravity, + Decided thus:--"I know you well of old, my friends, + Both must pay damages, I see; + You, Wolf, because you've brought a groundless charge: + You, Fox, because you stole from him; on that I'll not enlarge." + + The judge was right; it's no bad plan, + To punish rascals how you can. + + + + + FABLE XXV. + + + THE MIDDLE-AGED MAN AND THE TWO WIDOWS. + + + A Man of middle age, + Fast getting grey, + Thought it would be but sage + To fix the marriage day. + He had in stocks, + And under locks, + Money enough to clear his way. + Such folks can pick and choose; all tried to please + The moneyed man; but he, quite at his ease, + Showed no great hurry, + Fuss, nor scurry. + "Courting," he said, "was no child's play." + Two widows in his heart had shares-- + One young; the other, rather past her prime, + By careful art repairs + What has been carried off by Time. + The merry widows did their best + To flirt and coax, and laugh and jest; + Arranged, with much of bantering glee, + His hair, and curled it playfully. + The eldest, with a wily theft, + Plucked one by one the dark hairs left. + The younger, also plundering in her sport, + Snipped out the grey hair, every bit. + Both worked so hard at either sort, + They left him bald--that was the end of it. + "A thousand thanks, fair ladies," said the man; + "You've plucked me smooth enough; + Yet more of gain than loss, so <i>quantum suff.</i>, + For marriage now is not at all my plan. + She whom I would have taken t'other day + To enroll in Hymen's ranks, + Had but the wish to make me go <i>her</i> way, + And not my own; + A head that's bald must live alone: + For this good lesson, ladies, many thanks." + + + + + FABLE XXVI. + + + THE FOX AND THE STORK. + + + The Fox invited neighbour Stork to dinner, + But Reynard was a miser, I'm afraid; + He offered only soup, and that was thinner + Than any soup that ever yet was made. + The guest--whose lanky beak was an obstruction, + The mixture being served upon a plate-- + Made countless vain experiments in suction, + While Reynard feasted at a rapid rate. + The victim, bent upon retaliation, + Got up a little dinner in return. + Reynard accepted; for an invitation + To eat and drink was not a thing to spurn. + He reached the Stork's at the appointed hour, + Flattered the host, as well as he was able, + And got his grinders ready to devour + Whatever dishes might be brought to table. + But, lo! the Stork, to punish the offender, + Had got the meat cut very fine, and placed + Within a jug; the neck was long and slender, + Suited exactly to its owner's taste. + The Stork, whose appetite was most extensive, + Emptied the jug entirely to the dregs; + While hungry Reynard, quite abashed and pensive, + Walked homewards with his tail between his legs. + + Deceivers reap the fruits of their deceit, + And being cheated may reform a cheat. + + + [Illustration: THE LION AND THE GNAT.] + + + + + FABLE XXVII. + + + THE LION AND THE GNAT. + + + "Go, paltry insect, refuse of the earth!" + Thus said the Lion to the Gnat one day. + The Gnat held the Beast King as little worth; + Immediate war declared--no joke, I say. + "Think you I care for Royal name? + I care no button for your fame; + An ox is stronger far than you, + Yet oxen often I pursue." + This said; in anger, fretful, fast, + He blew his loudest trumpet blast, + And charged upon the Royal Nero, + Himself a trumpet and a hero. + The time for vengeance came; + The Gnat was not to blame. + Upon the Lion's neck he settled, glad + To make the Lion raving mad; + The monarch foams: his flashing eye + Rolls wild. Before his roaring fly + All lesser creatures; close they hide + To shun his cruelty and pride: + And all this terror at + The bite of one small Gnat, + Who changes every moment his attack, + First on the mouth, next on the back; + Then in the very caverns of the nose, + Gives no repose. + The foe invisible laughed out, + To see a Lion put to rout; + Yet clearly saw + That tooth nor claw + Could blood from such a pigmy draw. + The helpless Lion tore his hide, + And lashed with furious tail his side; + Lastly, quite worn, and almost spent, + Gave up his furious intent. + With glory crowned, the Gnat the battle-ground + Leaves, his victorious trump to sound, + As he had blown the battle charge before, + Still one blast for the conquest more. + He flies now here, now there, + To tell it everywhere. + Alas! it so fell out he met + A spider's ambuscaded net, + And perished, eaten in mid-air. + + What may we learn by this? why, two things, then: + First, that, of enemies, the smaller men + Should most be dreaded; also, secondly, + That passing through great dangers there may be + Still pitfalls waiting for us, though too small to see. + + + + + FABLE XXVIII. + + + THE ASS LADEN WITH SPONGES, AND THE ASS LADEN WITH SALT. + + + A Peasant, like a Roman Emperor bearing + His sceptre on his shoulder, proudly + Drove his two steeds with long cars, swearing + At one of them, full often and full loudly. + The first, with sponges laden, fast and fleet + Moved well its feet: + The second (it was hardly its own fault) + Bore bags of salt. + O'er mountain, dale, and weary road. + The weary pilgrims bore their load, + Till to a ford they came one day; + They halted there + With wondering air; + The driver knowing very well the way, + Leaped on the Ass the sponges' load that bore, + And drove the other beast before. + That Ass in great dismay + Fell headlong in a hole; + Then plashed and scrambled till he felt + The lessening salt begin to melt; + His shoulders soon had liberty, + And from their heavy load were free. + His comrade takes example from his brother, + As sheep will follow one another; + Up to his neck the creature plunges + Himself, his rider, and the sponges; + All three drank deep, the man and Ass + Tipple together many a glass. + The load seemed turned to lead; + The Ass, now all but dead, + Quite failed to gain the bank: his breath + Was gone: the driver clung like death + Till some one came, no matter who, and aid. + Enough, if I have shown by what I've said, + That all can't act alike, you know; + And this is what I wished to show. + + + + + FABLE XXIX. + + + THE LION AND THE RAT. + + + It's well to please all people when you can; + There's none so small but one his aid may need. + Here are two fables, if you give good heed, + Will prove the truth to any honest man. + + A Rat, in quite a foolish way, + Crept from his hole between a Lion's paws; + The king of animals showed on that day + His royalty, and never snapped his jaws. + The kindness was not unrepaid; + Yet, who'd have thought a Lion would need aid + + + [Illustration: THE LION AND THE RAT.] + + + From a poor Rat? + Soon after that + The Lion in the forest brake, + In their strong toils the hunters take; + In vain his roars, his frenzy, and his rage. + But Mr. Rat runs up; a mesh or two + Nibbles, and lets the Lion through + + Patience and length of time may sever, + What strength and empty wrath could never. + + + + + FABLE XXX. + + + THE DOVE AND THE ANT. + + + The next example we must get + From creatures even smaller yet. + A Dove came to a brook to drink, + When, leaning on the crumbling brink, + An Ant fell in, and failed to reach, + Through those vast ocean waves, the beach. + The Dove, so full of charity is she, + Threw down a blade of grass, a promontory, + Unto the Ant, who so once more, + Grateful and glad, escaped to shore. + Just then passed by + A scampish poacher, soft, bare-footed, came + Creeping and sly; + A crossbow in his hand he bore: + Seeing the Dove, he thought the game + Safe in the pot, and ready for the meal: + Quick runs the Ant, and stings his heel; + The angry rascal turns his head; + The Dove, who sees the scoundrel stoop, + Flies off, and with her flies his soup. + + + + + FABLE XXXI. + + + THE ASTROLOGER WHO LET HIMSELF FALL INTO THE WELL. + + + To an Astrologer, who by a blunder + Fell in a well, said one, "You addle-head, + Blind half an inch before your nose, I wonder + How you can read the planets overhead." + + This small adventure, not to go beyond, + A useful lesson to most men may be; + How few there are at times who are not fond + Of giving reins to their credulity, + Holding that men can read, + In times of need, + The solemn Book of Destiny, + That book, of which old Homer sung, + What was the ancient <i>chance</i>, in common sense, + but modern Providence? + Chance that has always bid defiance + To laws and schemes of human science. + If it were otherwise, a single glance + Would tell us there could be no fortune and no chance. + All things uncertain; + Who can lift the curtain? + Who knows the will of the Supreme? + He who made all, and all with a design; + Who but himself can know them? who can dream + He reads the thoughts of the Divine, + Did God imprint upon the star or cloud + The secrets that the night of Time enshroud, + In darkness hid?--only to rack the brains + Of those who write on what each sphere contains. + To help us shun inevitable woes, + And sadden pleasure long before its close; + Teaching us prematurely to destroy, + And turn to evil every coming joy, + This is an error, nay, it is a crime. + The firmament rolls on, the stars have destined time. + The sun gives light by day, + And drives the shadows of the night away. + Yet what can we deduce but that the will Divine + Bids them rise and bids them shine, + To lure the seasons on, to ripen every seed, + To shed soft influence on men; + What has an ordered universe to do indeed, + With chance, that is beyond our ken. + Horoscope-makers, cheats, and quacks. + On Europe's princes turn your backs, + And carry with you every bellows-working alchymist: + You are as bad as they, I wist.-- + But I am wandering greatly, as I think, + Let's turn to him whom Fate forced deep to drink. + Besides the vanity of his deceitful art, + He is the type of those who at chimeras gape, + Forgetting danger's simpler shape, + And troubles that before us and behind us start. + + + [Illustration: THE HARE AND THE FROGS.] + + + + + FABLE XXXII. + + + THE HARE AND THE FROGS. + + + One day sat dreaming in his form a Hare, + (And what but dream could one do there?) + With melancholy much perplexed + (With grief this creature's often vexed). + "People with nerves are to be pitied, + And often with their dumps are twitted; + Can't even eat, or take their pleasure; + Ennui," he said, "torments their leisure. + See how I live: afraid to sleep, + My eyes all night I open keep. + 'Alter your habits,' some one says; + But Fear can never change its ways: + In honest faith shrewd folks can spy, + That men have fear as well as I." + Thus the Hare reasoned; so he kept + Watch day and night, and hardly slept; + Doubtful he was, uneasy ever; + A breath, a shadow, brought a fever. + It was a melancholy creature, + The veriest coward in all nature; + A rustling leaf alarmed his soul, + He fled towards his secret hole. + Passing a pond, the Frogs leaped in, + Scuttling away through thick and thin, + To reach their dark asylums in the mud. + "Oh! oh!" said he, "then I can make them scud + As men make me; my presence scares + Some people too! Why, they're afraid of Hares! + I have alarmed the camp, you see. + Whence comes this courage? Tremble when I come; + I am a thunderbolt of war, may be; + My footfall dreadful as a battle drum!" + + There's no poltroon, be sure, in any place, + But he can find a poltroon still more base. + + + + + FABLE XXXIII. + + + THE TWO BULLS AND THE FROG. + + + Two Bulls were butting in rough battle, + For the fair belle of all the cattle; + A Frog, who saw them, shuddering sighed. + "What ails you?" said a croaker by his side. + "What? why, good gracious! don't you see + The end of all this fight will be + That one will soon be chased, and yield + The empire of this flowery field; + And driven from rich grass to feed, + Searching the marsh for rush and reed, + He'll trample many a back and head, + And every time he moves we're dead. + 'Tis very hard a heifer should occasion + To us so cruel an invasion." + There was good sense in the old croaker's fear, + For soon the vanquished Bull came near: + Treading with heedless, brutal power, + He crushed some twenty every hour. + + The poor in every age are forced by Fate + To expiate the follies of the great. + + + [Illustration: THE PEACOCK COMPLAINING TO JUNO.] + + + + + FABLE XXXIV. + + + THE PEACOCK COMPLAINING TO JUNO. + + + The Peacock to great Juno came: + "Goddess," he said, "they justly blame + The song you've given to your bird: + All nature thinks it most absurd, + The while the Nightingale, a paltry thing, + Is the chief glory of the spring: + Her note so sweet, and deep, and strong." + "I do thee, jealous bird, no wrong," + Juno, in anger, cried: + "Restrain thy foolish pride. + Is it for you to envy other's song?-- + You who around your neck art wearing + Of rainbow silks a hundred different dyes?-- + You, who can still display to mortal's eyes + A plume that far outfaces + A lapidary's jewel-cases? + Is there a bird beneath the skies + More fit to please and strike? + No animal has every gift alike: + We've given you each one his special dower; + This one has beauty, and that other power. + Falcons are swift; the Eagle's proud and bold; + By Ravens sorrow is foretold; + The Crow announces miseries to come; + All are content if singing or if dumb. + Cease, then, to murmur, lest, as punishment, + The plumage from thy foolish back be rent." + + + + + FABLE XXXV. + + + THE BAT AND THE TWO WEASELS. + + + A Bat one day into a Weasel's hole + Went boldly; well, it was a special blunder. + The Weasel, hating mice with heart and soul, + Ran up to eat the stranger--where's the wonder? + "How do you dare," he said, "to meet me here, + When you and I are foes, and always were? + Aint you a mouse?--lie not, and cast off fear; + You are; or I'm no Weasel: have a care." + "Now, pardon me," replied the Bat, + "I'm really anything but that. + What! I a mouse? the wicked tattlers lie. + Thanks to the Maker of all human things, + I am a bird--here are my wings: + Long live the cleavers of the sky!" + These arguments seemed good, and so + The Weasel let the poor wretch go. + But two days later, though it seems absurd, + The simpleton into another hole intruded. + This second Weasel hated every bird, + And darted on the rash intruder. + "There you mistake," the Bat exclaimed; + "Look at me, ain[']t I rashly blamed? + What makes a bird? its feathers?--yes. + I am a mouse--long live the rats, + And Jupiter take all the cats." + So twice, by his supreme address, + This Bat was saved--thanks to <i>finesse.</i> + + Many there are who, changing uniform, + Have laughed at every danger and intrigue; + The wise man cries, to 'scape the shifting storm, + "Long live the King!" or, "Glory to the League!" + + + + + FABLE XXXVI. + + + THE BIRD WOUNDED BY AN ARROW. + + + A bird by well-aimed arrow shot, + Dying, deplored its cruel lot; + And cried, "It doubles every pain + When from oneself the cause of ruin's ta'en. + Oh, cruel men, from our own wings you drew + The plume that winged the shaft that slew; + But mock us not, you heartless race, + You too will some time take our place; + For half at least of Japhet's brothers + Forge swords and knives to slay the others." + + + + + FABLE XXXVII. + + + THE MILLER, HIS SON, AND THE ASS. + + + The Arts are birthrights; true, and being so, + The fable to the ancient Greeks we owe; + But still the field can ne'er be reaped so clean + As not to let the later comers glean. + The world of fiction's full of deserts bare, + Yet still our authors make discoveries there. + Let me repeat a story, good, though old, + That Malherbe to Racan, 'tis rumoured, told; + Rivals of Horace, heirs in every way, + Apollo's sons, our masters, I should say: + They met one time in friendly solitude, + Unbosoming those cares that will obtrude. + Racan commences thus,--"Tell me, my friend, + You, who the clue of life, from end to end, + Know well, and step by step, and stage by stage, + Have lost no one experience of age; + How shall I settle? I must choose my station. + You know my fortune, birth, and education. + Shall I the provinces make my resort, + Carry the colours, or push on at court? + The world has bitterness, and it has charms, + War has its sweets, and marriage its alarms: + Easy to follow one's own natural bent, + But I've both court and people to content." + "Please everybody!" Malherbe says, with crafty eye, + "Now hear my story ere you make reply. + I've somewhere read, a Miller and his Son, + One just through life, the other scarce begun + (Boy of fifteen, if I remember well), + Went one fair day a favourite Ass to sell; + To take him fresh--according to wise rules-- + They tied his feet and swung him--the two fools-- + They carried him just like a chandelier. + Poor simple rustics (idiots, I fear), + The first who met them gave a loud guffaw, + And asked what clumsy farce it was he saw. + 'The greatest ass is not the one who walks,' + So sneeringly the passing horseman talks. + The Miller frees the beast, by this convinced. + The discontented creature brayed and winced + In its own <i>patois</i>; for the change was bad: + Then the good Miller mounted the poor lad. + As he limped after, there came by that way + Three honest merchants, who reviling say, + 'Dismount! why, that won't do, you lazy lad; + Give up the saddle to your grey-haired dad; + You go behind, and let your father ride.' + 'Yes, masters,' said the Miller, 'you decide + Quite right; both ways I am content.' + He took his seat, and then away they went. + Three girls next passed: 'Oh, what a shame!' says one, + 'A father treating like a slave his son! + The churl rides like a bishop's calf. 'Not I,' + The Miller made the girls a sharp reply: + 'Too old for veal, you hussies, and ill-famed.' + Still with such jesting he became ashamed, + Thought he'd done wrong; and changing his weak mind, + + + [Illustration: THE MILLER, HIS SON, AND THE ASS.] + + + Took up his son upon the croup behind. + But three yards more, a third, sour, carping set, + Began to cavil,--'Biggest fools we've met! + The beast is done--he'll die beneath their blows. + What! load a poor old servant!' so it grows: + 'They'll go to market, and they'll sell his skin.' + 'Parbleu!' the Miller said, 'not worth a pin + The fellow's brains who tries with toil and strife + To please the world, his neighbour, and his wife. + But still we'll have a try as we've begun:' + So off the Ass they jumped, himself and son. + The Ass in state goes first, and then came they. + A quidnunc met them--What! is that the way? + The Ass at ease, the Miller quite foot-sore! + That seems an Ass that's greatly held in store. + Set him in gold--frame him--now, by the mass, + Wear out one's shoes, to save a paltry Ass! + Not so went Nicolas his Jeanne to woo; + The song says that he rode to save his shoe. + There go three asses.' 'Right,' the Miller cries; + 'I am an Ass, it's true, and you are wise; + But henceforth I don't care, so let them blame + Or praise, no matter, it shall be the same; + Let them be quiet, pshaw! or let them tell, + I'll go my own way now;'" and he did well. + + Then follow Mars, or Cupid, or the Court, + Walk, sit, or run, in town or country sport, + Marry or take the cowl, empty or fill the bag, + Still never doubt the babbling tongues will wag. + + + + + FABLE XXXVIII. + + + THE COCK AND THE FOX. + + + Upon a branch a crafty sentinel, + A very artful old bird, sat. + "Brother," a Fox said, "greet you well" + (He speaks so soft--there's guile in that); + "Our quarrel's over, peace proclaimed: + I bring the news; come down, embrace: + Do not delay: I shall be blamed + If soon not twenty stages from this place. + Now you and yours can take your ease: + Do what you please, + Without a fear; + We're brothers now, you know, my dear. + Light up the bonfires everywhere: + Dismiss all care; + But let us first, to seal the bliss, + Have one fraternal, tender kiss." + "Friend," said the Cock, "upon my word, + More glorious news I never heard. + This peace. + May it increase; + It's double joy to hear it, friend, from thee. + Ha! there I see + Two greyhounds--couriers, doubtless, as you are-- + Coming fast down yonder scaur: + They'll be here in a minute, + Ah! yes, there's something in it-- + I'll come down quick:--we'd better kiss all round." + "Adieu," the Fox said; "Sir, my business presses; + We shall meet shortly, I'll be bound: + Another time we can exult + Over this end of our distresses." + Then off the rascal ran to ground, + Full of chagrin and discontent. + The Cock laughed loud, to see his fear, + And clapped his wings, his wives to cheer. + + It is a pleasure doubly sweet + To trick the scoundrel and the cheat. + + + + + FABLE XXXIX. + + + THE FROGS WHO ASKED FOR A KING. + + + Of Democrats the Frogs grew tired, + And unto Monarchy aspired; + Clamour so loud, that from a cloud + Great Jove in pity dropped a King, + Silent and peaceful, all allowed; + And yet he fell with such a splash, the thing + Quite terrified those poor marsh folks, + Not fond of jokes, + Foolish and timid, all from him hid; + And each one brushes + + + [Illustration: THE FROGS WHO ASKED FOR A KING.] + + + To hide in reeds, or sneak in rushes; + And from their swampy holes, poor little souls! + For a long time they dared not peep + At the great giant, still asleep. + And yet the monarch of the bog + Was but a LOG, + Whose solemn gravity inspired with awe + The first who venturing saw: + He hobbled somewhat near, + With trembling and with fear; + Then others followed, and another yet, + Until a crowd there met; + At last the daring mob grew bolder, + And leaped upon the royal shoulder; + Good man, he did not take it ill, + But as before kept still. + Soon Jupiter is deafened with the din-- + "Give us a king who'll move," they all begin. + The monarch of the gods sends down a Crane, + Who with a vengeance comes to reign. + He gobbles and he munches, + He sups and lunches; + Till louder still the Frogs complain. + "Why, see!" great Jupiter replied, + "How foolishly you did decide. + You'd better kept your first--the last is worst. + You must allow, if you are fair, + King Log was calm and <i>debonair</i>: + With him, then, be ye now content, + For fear a third, and worse, be sent." + + + + + FABLE XL. + + + THE DOG AND HER COMPANION. + + + A Dog, proud of her new-born family, + And needing shelter for her restless brood, + Begged a snug kennel with such urgency, + A generous friend at last was found who would + Supply her pressing need--so it was lent. + After a week or so the good soul went + And asked it back.--"Only a fortnight more:" + The little ones could hardly walk as yet; + 'Twas kindly granted as before. + The second term expired, again they met: + The friend demands her house, her room, her bed. + This time the graceless Dog showed teeth, and scowled; + "I and my children are prepared to go," she growled, + "If you can put us out and reign instead." + By this time they were grown, + And better left alone. + + Lend to bad men, and you'll regret it much; + To draw from them the money right, + You must plead, and you must fight, + Or else your gold you'll never touch. + Only the truth I mean to tell: + Give them an inch, they'll take an ell. + + + + [Illustration: THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.] + + + + + FABLE XLI. + + + THE FOX AND THE GRAPES. + + + A Certain hungry Fox, of Gascon breed + (Or Norman--but the difference is small), + Discovered, looking very ripe indeed, + Some Grapes that hung upon an orchard-wall. + Striving to clamber up and seize the prey, + He found the fruit was not within his power; + "Well, well," he muttered, as he walked away, + "It's my conviction that those Grapes are sour." + + The Fox did wisely to accept his lot; + 'Twas better than complaining, was it not? + + + + + FABLE XLII. + + + THE EAGLE AND THE BEETLE. + + + John Rabbit, by an Eagle followed, fled, + And in his terror hid his head + In a poor Beetle's hole, that happened to be there. + You well may guess that this poor lair + Was insecure; but where to hide? alack! + He crouched--the Eagle pounced upon his back. + The friendly Beetle intercedes, + And, all in tears, he kindly pleads: + "Queen of the Birds! no doubt, in spite of me, + You can this trembling creature bear away; + But spare me this affront, this grief, I pray. + John Rabbit begs his little life of thee; + Grant it for pity's sake, sweet ma'am, now do!" + The bird of Jove disdained to make reply, + But struck the Beetle with her wing--one--two-- + Then bore John Rabbit to the upper sky. + Indignant Beetle, of revenge in quest, + Flew straight to the proud Eagle's nest; + Broke in her absence all her eggs--the lot-- + Her sweetest hopes--the eggs she held so dear. + Angry people have no fear. + The Eagle, coming to the well-loved spot, + And seeing all the hideous fricassee, + Filled heaven with shrieks; but could not find + On whom to vent her wrath--you see, + Her fury made her blind. + She mourned in vain; that year it was her fate + Childless to be, and desolate. + The next she built a loftier nest--in vain, + The Beetle addled all the eggs again. + John Rabbit's death was well avenged indeed! + For six long months the Eagle's moanings flew, + And woke the echoing forest through. + The bird that bore off Ganymede, + Furious and loud remonstrance made, + And flew to Jupiter for aid. + Her eggs she placed upon the Thunderer's lap-- + There could come no mishap; + Jove must defend them: who would dare + To touch the objects of his care? + The enemy now changed his note; he soared, + And let some earth fall where they're stored; + The god, his vestment shaking carelessly, + Let the eggs fall into infinity. + The Eagle, mad with rage at the event + (Merely an accident), + Swore she would leave the wicked court, + And make the desert her resort; + With such vagaries.-- + (In rage all fair is.) + Poor Jupiter in silence heard; + The Beetle came, and charged the bird-- + In the tribunal of the upper air + Related the affair. + The god pronounced the Eagle in the wrong, + But still the mutual hate was strong. + To make a truce, Jove then arranged + The time for Eagles' hatching should be changed + To winter, when the marmots sleep, + And Beetles from the daylight keep. + + + [Illustration] + + + FABLE XLIII. + + + THE RAVEN WHO WISHED TO IMITATE THE EAGLE. + + + The bird of Jove bore off a heavy "mutton;" + A Raven, witness of the whole affair, + Weaker in back, but scarcely less a glutton, + Resolved to do the same, whate'er + Might come of it. + With greedy wit, + Around the flock he made a sweep, + Marking, among the fattest sheep, + One of enormous size, + Fit for a sacrifice. + Said Master Raven, winking both his eyes, + "Your nurse's name I cannot tell, + But such fat flesh will suit me well: + You're ready for my eating." + Then on the sheep, slow, sluggish, bleating, + The Raven settled down, not knowing + The beast weighed more than a mere cream-cheese could. + It had a fleece as thickly growing + As beard of Polyphemus--tangled wood-- + That clung to either claw; the animal could not withdraw. + The shepherd comes, and calling to his boy, + Gives him the Raven for a toy. + + We must take care; the moral is quite clear-- + The footpad mustn't rob on the highway. + Example is a dangerous lure, I fear: + Men-eaters are not all great people; no, I say, + Where wasps passed last week gnats are crushed to-day. + + + [Illustration] + + + FABLE XLIV. + + + THE WOLVES AND THE SHEEP. + + + After a thousand years of open war, + The Wolves signed treaty with their foes, the Sheep: + It seemed to be the best for both, by far; + For if the Wolves contrived their tithes to reap, + The shepherds liked a coat of tanned Wolf-skin. + No liberty for pasture had there been, + Neither for carnage; never was there rest! + None could enjoy what pleasures seemed the best; + Peace was concluded--hostages surrendered. + The Wolves their cubs, the Sheep their watch-dogs rendered; + + + [Illustration: THE WOLVES AND THE SHEEP.] + + + Th' exchange was made in form and order due, + Commissioners were there and not a few; + Some time elapsed, but soon the Wolf-cubs grew + To perfect Wolves, and with a taste for killing; + They chose a time the shepherds were away, + Choked all the fattest lambs that they could slay, + And bore them to the woods; no whit unwilling, + Their fellow-plotters waited for them there. + The dogs, who, full of trust, had thrown by care, + Were slain so quickly, that not one e'en knew + Who their assailants were that bit and slew. + War 'gainst the bad, a war that never ends; + Peace is a wholesome thing, good men are friends. + That I allow; yet peace is but a word, a senseless joke, + With wicked people, and such faithless folk. + + + + + FABLE XLV. + + + THE CAT CHANGED INTO A WOMAN. + + + A Man loved, heart and soul, his favourite Cat; + She was his pet, his beauty, and all that. + Her mewing was so sweet, and was so sad:-- + He was far madder than the mad. + This man, then, by his tears and praying, + By wizard charms and much soothsaying, + Wrought things so well, that Destiny, + One fine day, changed the Cat into a Woman + (A change uncommon). + And they were married, soon as they could be. + Mad friends became mad lovers then; + And not the fairest dame e'er known + Had ever such affection shown + To him she'd chosen from all men. + The love-blind fool, delighted with his bride, + Found not a trace of Cat was left at all, + No scratch or caterwaul; + He fondles her, she him: she is his pride; + She is the fairest of her kind, + A perfect woman, to his mind. + One night some mice came gnawing at the curtain; + It broke the lady's sleep, that's certain; + At once she leaped upon her feet-- + To cats revenge is very sweet-- + And on all-fours she ran to seize + Those creatures always prone to tease; + But she was changed--in shape and wit-- + They did not care for her a bit + This aberration on her part + Was grief perpetual to his heart. + It never ceased to be the way + Whenever mice were out at play; + For when a certain time has gone, + The jug is seasoned; and the cloth gets wrinkles. + In vain we try to alter what is done, + The warning bell unheeded tinkles. + Things will not change again; one knows + There is no way to end the matter, + Neither by pitchforks nor by blows; + Though Habit you should beat and tatter. + You'll not be master of the place, + Saddle or bridle--how you will; + For if the door's slammed in its face, + It comes back o'er the window-sill. + + + [Illustration: PHILOMEL AND PROGNE.] + + + + FABLE XLVI. + + + PHILOMEL AND PROGNE. + + + Progne, the Swallow, set forth from her dwelling, + And, leaving the cities afar, took flight + For the grove that Philomel chose for telling + Her ancient griefs to the listening night. + "Sister," said Progne, "I have not met you + For nearly the space of a thousand years. + Why are we parted? I cannot forget you, + Nor banish our Thracian trials and tears. + Come, leave this wood; it is dark and lonely." + "What haunt could be pleasanter?" Philomel asked. + "And is it," said Progne, "for animals only, + Or peasants at best, that your efforts are tasked? + With a note so rich 'tis a thousand pities + To scatter its charms to the desert air. + Come, quit this grove to delight our cities, + And waste no longer a gift so rare. + These woods, my sister, must oft remind you + Of all the sorrow King Tereus wrought. + Leave, leave the terrible days behind you, + And give to the past not a tearful thought." + "'Tis the memory, dear, of our Thracian troubles," + Said Philomel, sadly, "that bids me stay; + For the sight of humanity only doubles + The grief of the times that have passed away!" + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE XLVII. + + + THE LION AND THE ASS. + + + The King of Animals a <i>battue</i> made + Upon his birthday, bent to fill his bags. + The Lion's game is not with sparrows played; + But boars of bulk, and good-sized portly stags. + For an ally in this affair, + He had an able minister. + The Ass, with Stentor's voice, served as his hunting-horn; + The Lion hid deep 'mid the thickest wood, + And ordered him to bray loud as he could; + So that the clamour shrilly borne, + Might drive from every nook and lair + Those not initiated to the sound. + The hideous tempest came; the air + Shook with the dreadful discord; round + It flew, and scared the fiercest forest creatures; + They fled with terror-stricken features. + And fell into the ready snare, + Where the King Lion stood to meet his prey. + "Have I not served thee brave and true?" + The Ass said, taking to himself the palm. + "Yes," quoth the Lion, grave and calm, + "'Twas nobly brayed; I own to you, + Had I not known your name and race, + I had been almost frightened too!" + Had he been rash, the Ass, his rage + Would not have hidden, I'll engage. + Just was the rallying, though severe; + For who can bear a bragging Ass? + It does not fit their rank or class, + And very ill becomes their business here. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE XLVIII. + + + THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT. + + + I've read in some old Fabulist, I know, + A second Nibblelard, of Cats + The Alexander, and of Rats + The Attila, struck many a fatal blow; + And this exterminating creature + Was quite a Cerberus by nature. + (The author writes) For miles away, + This Cat was feared; he'd vowed, they say, + To clear the world of mice, + And in a trice. + The disks within a jar hung gingerly, + "The death to Rats:" the traps, and gins, and springs, + The nooses, poisons, and such things, + Were nothing to this Cat, but merely toys. + Soon as he heard no longer stir or noise, + The mice being prisoned in each hole, + Cheek and jowl; + So that it was in vain to hope for prey, + He tried another "lay." + Shammed death, laid down fast holding by a cord; + A trickster, eager for the horde-- + The mice, good folk, deem he is hung + For stealing meat or cheese, tight strung + For scratching some one, or for breaking done. + At last they think the monster's sand is run; + His funeral will be quite a gala day. + Then out they slowly creep, + First one small nose, and then another, + Next a young mouse, then an old brother, + And then they scurry back in fright; + But four step once more to the light, + And lastly all come out to play, + And now begins another sort of treat: + + + [Illustration: THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT.] + + + The dead Cat falls upon his nimble feet, + Snaps up the slowest, head and tail. + "Ha! ha!" he gobbling cried, "It could not fail, + My <i>ruse de guerre</i>; no holes avail + To save these creatures, and I warn them now, + They all will come to the same mouth, I trow." + His prophecy came true--the master of his art, + A second time played well his part. + His fur he whitened o'er with flour, + That very hour, + And hid within + A white meal bin. + No bad contrivance, every one must own. + The Rats could not leave well alone; + One Rat was wary, shy to venture out, + And pry about-- + Man of the world, and master of <i>finesse</i>, + He'd lost his tail in battle, too, + And half a dozen tricks he knew. + "This mass of white may be all sham, I guess," + He cried, still shunning the Cat's ambuscade: + "Beneath the stuff I fear some trap is laid; + No matter if it's flour or no, + It may be so; + But sack or not, still I won't venture near." + 'Twas neatly said, his prudence and his fears + I much approve; Experience told him true, + Suspicion's Safety's mother, + And Wisdom's foster brother. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE XLIX. + + + A WILL INTERPRETED BY ÆSOP. + + + If what they say of Æsop's truth, + He was the oracle of Greece indeed; + And all the Areopagus, in sooth, + Was not so wise. And here, if you would plead + For proof, I'll give one, in a pleasant tale, + My friends and readers to regale. + + A certain man had daughters three, + Each of a different turn of mind: + The one a toper, loving company; + The second, fond of all coquetry; + The third a miser, and to save inclined. + The man left them, by will and deed, + As laws municipal decreed, + Half his estate, divided equally; + And to their mother just the same: + But only in her power to claim + When all the daughters had their own + And nothing more but that alone. + The father dead, the daughters ran + To read the will--they were not slow + To con it; yet, do what they can, + They could not understand it--no. + What did he wish?--yes, that's the question + That took a good deal of digestion. + 'Each one that had her part, no more, + Should to her mother pay it o'er.' + It was not quite the usual way, + With no gold left, to go and pay: + What meant their worthy father, then? + They run and ask the black-gowned men, + Who turn the case for many days-- + Turn it a hundred thousand ways; + Yet after all, in sheer vexation, + Throw down their wigs in perturbation. + At last the judge advised the heirs + At once to settle the affairs. + As to the widow's part, the counsels say + A third each sister's bound to pay, + Upon demand, unless she choose to take + A life annuity, for quietness' sake, + Beginning from the day her husband died, + And so they all decide. + Then in three lots they part the whole estate: + In number one the plate; + The mighty cellars; summer-houses built + Beneath the vine; + The stores of rich Malvoisin wine; + The spits, the bowls of silver gilt, + And all the tribes of slaves who wait;-- + In short, the perfect apparatus, + That gives an epicure his social status. + The second lot comprises + All that a flirting girl surprises: + Embroiderer's, and many a lady's maid, + Jewels, and costly robes;--be sure + The town house, and the furniture, + And stately eunuchs, rich arrayed. + Lot three comprises farming-stock, + Pastures and houses, fold and flock; + Labourers and horses, stores and herds. + This done, they fix, with many words, + That since the lottery won't select + What each one would the most affect, + The eldest have what she likes best, + Leaving the same choice to the rest. + In Athens it fell out, + This pleased the motley rout, + Both great and small. + The judge was praised by all; + Æsop alone derided + The way they had decided. + After much time and pains, they'd gone, he thought, + And set the wishes of the man at nought. + "If the dead came to life," he said, + "Athens aloud he would upbraid. + What! men who cherish subtlety, + To blunder o'er a will so stupidly!" + Then quickly he divides, + And thus the sage decides:-- + To each he gave the part + Least grateful to her heart: + Pressing on them what they most hate. + To the coquette the cups and bowls + Cherished and loved by thirsty souls; + The toper had the farm; still worse than that, + The miser had the slaves and dresses. + This is the way, Æsop confesses, + To make the sisters alienate + Their shares of the bequeathed estate; + Nor would they longer single tarry, + But run post haste, and quickly marry; + So very soon the father's gold, set free, + Would to the mother come, with certainty, + Which was the meaning of the testament. + The people wondered, as they homeward went, + That he alone should have more brains + Than all the lawyers and their trains. + + + + + FABLE L. + + + THE LION IN LOVE. + + TO MADEMOISELLE SEVIGNE. + + + Lady, whose charms were meant to be + A model for the Graces three; + Lend graciously your gentle ear, + And but one simple fable hear; + You'll see, without profound alarm, + A Lion quelled by Cupid's arm. + Love rules with such a tyranny, + Happy those shunning slavery; + Who the harsh monarch only know + By song and poem, not by blow. + + + [Illustration: THE LION IN LOVE.] + + + When I dare speak of love to you, + Pardon the fable, no whit true, + That gives me courage to bring it, + Perhaps with more of zeal than wit, + A simple offering, rough and rude, + Of my devoted gratitude. + In times when animals could speak, + The Lion came intent to seek + Mankind's alliance--wherefore not? + Since beasts had then by nature got + Courage, intelligence, and skill; + A bearing, too, by no means ill. + Now hear what happened, if you will: + A Lion of a noble race + Saw in a vale a pretty face, + A shepherdess's, understand, + And instantly he claimed her hand. + The father, prudent and pacific, + Preferred a suitor less terrific: + To give his daughter seemed too bad, + Yet how refuse so wild a lad? + If he refused, perhaps there'd be + A marriage still clandestinely. + The maiden liked her dashing wooer, + Her boisterous, reckless, blustering suer, + And playing with the creature's main, + Combed it, and smoothed it o'er again; + The prudent father, half afraid + To spurn the lover of the maid, + Said, "But my daughter's delicate, + Your claws may hurt your little mate; + And when you fondle and caress, + Lion, you'll tear her and her dress; + Permit me, sir, to clip each paw, + It shall be done without a flaw, + And, by-the-by, in the meanwhile, + Your teeth 'twould be as well to file; + Your kisses then would be less rough, + And her's far sweeter--that's enough." + The Lion, blinded by affection, + Obeyed the artful man's direction; + Toothless and clawless, he grew prouder + (A fortress without guns or powder). + They loosed the mastiff on him soon, + And he was butchered before noon. + O Love! O Love! when bound by you, + Prudence, to thee we say, Adieu! + + + + + FABLE LI. + + + THE FOX AND THE GOAT. + + + A Fox once travelled, and for company + His friend, a large-horned Goat, had he, + Who scarce could see an inch beyond his nose, + While Reynard every trick and quibble knows. + Thirst drove these folks, it so befell, + To seek the bottom of a well. + After they'd had their bout of drinking, + Says Reynard, "Comrade, I am thinking + How we can best get out from here; + Put up your feet and horns--no fear-- + Rear up against the wall, my friend, + And I'll climb up--our troubles end. + One spring upon your horns will do; + And I once out can rescue you." + "Now, by my beard! I like the plan," + The other said, "you're one that can; + Such folks as you see clear through things, + Some never learn the secret springs; + I never should have found it out, + Though I had groped a year about." + The Fox once free, the Goat compelled + To learn a sermon--the text's "patience." + "If Heaven," he said, "had only held + It right to give thee and thy dull relations + Half as much sense as beard-- + (But then it hasn't, I'm afeard); + Still use your efforts, my dear sir--no perturbations. + Certain affairs of state + Will hardly let me longer wait; + In everything 'tis well to mind the end, + In future think of that, my friend." + + + [Illustration: THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA.] + + + + + FABLE LII. + + + THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA. + + + Beside his fold, and free from every care, + A Shepherd, Amphitrite's neighbour, lived for years; + Small was his fortune, yet while skies were fair, + He was contented, vexed by cares nor fears. + At last the treasures cast upon the shore + Tempted the man; he bartered flock and fold, + And sent forth ships to bring him back the more; + But tempests sank the vessels and the gold. + Once more he went to watch the silly sheep, + No longer master as he had been long, + When his own flocks he used to ward and keep, + And poets called him Tircis in their song; + Now he was Pierrot, and that was all. + After some time he, once more well to do, + Had flocks again to answer to his call; + One day when winds were low, and vessels drew + Safely towards the shore and home, the Shepherd stood + Upon the sunny cliff: "Fair nymphs," he cried, + "Seek some one else, I pray you be so good; + <i>Ma foi</i>, you don't catch me with any tide." + + This story is not merely meant to please; + It's sober truth, I say, and serves to show + That pence are better if all safe, you know, + Than pounds of promises; when once at ease, + Remain content, and closely shut your ears + To Circe's wiles, resist her wanton smiles. + Ambition and the Sea, avoid them both, + They're full of miseries and racking fears; + For one who wins there's twenty thousand don't. + Rely on that; the winds and thieves are loth + To lose their prey (and trust to them)--they won't. + + + + + FABLE LIII. + + + THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE. + + + Each one's his faults, to which he still holds fast, + And neither shame nor fear can cure the man; + 'Tis <i>apropos</i> of this (my usual plan), + I give a story, for example, from the past. + A follower of Bacchus hurt his purse, + His health, his mind, and still grew each day worse; + Such people, ere they've run one-half their course, + Drain all their fortune for their mad expenses. + One day this fellow, by the wine o'erthrown, + Had in a bottle left his senses; + His shrewd wife shut him all alone + In a dark tomb, till the dull fume + Might from his brains evaporate. + He woke and found the place all gloom, + A shroud upon him cold and damp, + Upon the pall a funeral lamp. + "What's this?" said he; "my wife's a widow, then!" + On that the wife, dressed like a Fury, came, + Mask'd, and with voice disguised, into the den, + And brought the wretched sot, in hopes to tame, + Some boiling gruel fit for Lucifer. + The sot no longer doubted he was dead-- + A citizen of Pluto's--could he err? + "And who are you?" unto the ghost he said. + "I'm Satan's steward," said the wife, "and serve the food + For those within this black and dismal place." + The sot replied, with comical grimace, + Not taking any time to think, + "And don't you also bring the drink?" + + + + + FABLE LIV. + + + KING GASTER AND THE MEMBERS. + + + Had I but shown a proper loyalty, + I had begun my book with royalty. + The Belly is a king, it's true, + And in a certain point of view + His wants the other members share. + Well, once to work for him they weary were; + Each one discussed a better plan,-- + To live an idle gentleman, + Like Monsieur Gaster, + Their lord and master. + "Without us he must feed on air; + We sweat and toil, and groan with care, + For whom? for him alone; we get no good, + And all our thought's to find him food: + We'll strike, and try his idle trade." + 'Twas done as soon as said. + The hands refused to grasp, the legs to walk, + The eyes to open, and the tongue to talk; + Gaster might do whate'er he could.-- + 'Twas a mistake they soon repent + With one consent. + The heart made no more blood, and so + The other members ceased to glow; + All wanted strength, + And thus the working men at length + Saw that their idle monarch, in his way, + Toiled for the common weal as well as they. + And this applies to royalty, + It takes and gives with fair equality; + All draw from it their nourishment: + It feeds the artisan, and pays the magistrate, + Gives labourers food, and soldiers subsidies, + Distributes in a thousand places + Its sovereign graces; + In fact, supports the State. + + Menenius told the story well, + When discord in the senate fell, + And discontented Commons taunted it + For having power and treasure, honour, dignity, + While all the care and pain was theirs, + Taxes and imposts, all the toils of war, + The blood, the sorrow, brand and scar. + Without the walls already do they band, + Resolved to seek another land. + Menenius was able, + By this most precious fable, + To bring them safely back + To the old, honest track. + + + + + FABLE LV. + + + THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN. + + + It was a custom with the Greeks + For travellers by sea to take + Monkeys and fancy dogs, whose tricks + Would pastime in fair weather make. + A vessel with such things on deck, + Not far from Athens, went to wreck; + But for the Dolphins all had drowned. + This animal is friend to man: + The fact in Pliny may be found; + So must be true, say what you can. + + + [Illustration: THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.] + + A Dolphin half the people saves, + Even a Monkey, by-the-by, + He thought a sailor, from the waves + He kindly helped: the creature sly, + Seated upon the Dolphin's back, + Looked very grave and wise; good lack! + One would have really almost sworn + T'was old Arion, all forlorn. + The two had nearly reached the land, + When just by chance, and such a pity! + Fish asks, "Are you from Athens grand?" + "Yes; oh, they know me in that city; + If you have any business there, + Employ me; for it is truly where + My kinsfolk hold the highest place. + My second cousin is Lord Mayor." + The Dolphin thanked him with good grace: + "And the Piræus knows your face? + You see it often, I dare say?" + "See him! I see him every day; + An old acquaintance; that is so." + The foolish chatterer did not know + Piræus was a harbour, not a man. + Such people, go where'er you can, + You meet within a mile of home, + Mistaking Vaugirard for Rome, + People who chattering dogmatise + Of what has never met their eyes. + The Dolphin laughed, and turning round + The Monkey saw, and straightway found + He'd saved mere shadow of humanity; + Then plunged again beneath the sea, + And search amid the billows made + For one more worthy of his aid. + + + + + FABLE LVI. + + + THE EAGLE, THE WILD SOW, AND THE CAT. + + + An Eagle lodged its young within a hollow tree; + A Sow lived at the foot; a Cat between the two. + Friendly they were, good neighbours, the whole three,-- + Between the mothers there was no to-do. + At last the Cat malignant mischief made; + She climbed up to the Eagle: "Ma'am, our peace + Is ended, death," she says, "is threatening; I'm dismayed. + We perish if our children die; she'll never cease, + That Sow accursed. See! how she grubs and digs, + And mines and burrows, to uproot our oak; + She hopes to ruin us and ours, to feed her pigs + When the tree falls--Madam, it is no joke! + Were there but hopes of saving one, + I'd go and quietly mourn alone." + Thus sowing fear broadcast, she went + With a perfidious intent, + To where the Sow sat dozily. + "Good friend and neighbour," whispered she, + "I warn you, if you venture forth, + The Eagle pounces on your family; + Don't go and spread the thing about, + Or I shall fall a victim to her wrath." + Having here also sown wild fears, + And set her neighbours by the ears, + The Cat into her hole withdrew; + The Eagle after would not fly + To bring home food; the poor Sow, too, + Was still more fearful and more shy. + Fools! not to see that one's first care + Is for one's self to find good fare; + Both stayed at home, still obstinate, + To save their young from cruel fate. + The royal bird, she feared the mine; + The Sow, a pounce upon her swine; + Hunger slew all the porcine brood, + And then the eaglets of the wood; + Not one was left--just think of that! + What a relief to Madame Cat! + + A treacherous tongue sows misery + By its pernicious subtlety; + Of all the ills that from Pandora's box arose, + Not one brought half so many woes + As foul Deceit; daughter of Treachery. + + + + + FABLE LVII. + + + THE MISER WHO LOST HIS TREASURE. + + + It's use that constitutes possession wholely; + I ask those people who've a passion + For heaping gold on gold, and saving solely, + How they excel the poorest man in any fashion? + Diogenes is quite as rich as they. + True Misers live like beggars, people say; + The man with hidden treasure Æsop drew + Is an example of the thing I mean. + In the next life he might be happy, true; + But very little joy in this he knew; + + + [Illustration: THE MISER WHO LOST HIS TREASURE.] + + + By gold the Miser was so little blessed. + Not its possessor, but by it possessed; + He buried it a fathom underground; + His heart was with it; his delight + To ruminate upon it day and night; + A victim to the altar ever bound. + He seemed so poor, yet not one hour forgot + The golden grave, the consecrated spot: + Whether he goes or comes, or eats or drinks, + Of gold, and gold alone, the Miser thinks. + At last a ditcher marks his frequent walks, + And muttering talks, + Scents out the place, and clears the whole, + Unseen by any spies. + On one fine day the Miser came, his soul + Glowing with joy; he found the empty nest; + Bursts into tears, and sobs, and cries, + He frets, and tears his thin grey hair; + He's lost what he had loved the best. + A startled peasant passing there + Inquires the reason of his sighs. + "My gold! my gold! they've stolen all." + "Your treasure! what was it, and where?" + "Why, buried underneath this stone." + (A moan!) + "Why, man, is this a time of war? + Why should you bring your gold so far? + Had you not better much have let + The wealth lie in a cabinet, + Where you could find it any hour + In your own power?" + "What! every hour? a wise man knows + Gold comes but slowly, quickly goes; + I never touched it." "Gracious me!" + Replied the other, "why, then, be + So wretched? for if you say true, + You never touched it, plain the case; + Put back that stone upon the place, + 'Twill be the very same to you." + + + + + FABLE LVIII. + + + THE GOUT AND THE SPIDER. + + + When Mischief made the Spider and the Gout, + "My daughters," said she, "you may clearly vaunt + That nowhere in a human haunt + Are there two plagues more staunch and stout; + Come, choose your dwellings where you would abide: + Here are the hovels--narrow, dark, and poor, + And there the palaces all gilt with pride, + You have your choice--now, what can I say more? + Here is the lottery prescribed by law, + Come, daughters, draw." + "The hovel's not my place," the Spider says; + Her sister hates the palace, for the Gout + Sees men called doctors creeping in and out, + They would not leave her half an hour at ease: + She crawls and rests upon a poor man's toe, + Just so, + And says, "I shall now do whate'er I please. + No struggles longer with Hippocrates! + No call to pack and march, no one can displace me." + The Spider camps upon a ceiling high, + As if she had a life-long lease, you see, + And spins her web continually, + Ready for any fly. + A servant soon, to clean the room, + Sweeps down the product of her loom. + With each tissue the girl's at issue: + Spiders, busy maids will swish you! + The wretched creature every day + Was driven from her home away; + At last, quite wearied, she gave out, + And went to seek her sister Gout, + Who in the country mourned her wretched fate: + A thousand times more hopeless her estate; + Even more miseries betide her + Than the misfortunes of the Spider. + Her host has made her dig and hoe, + And rake and chop, and plough and mow, + Until he's all but well. + "I can't resist him. Ah! <i>ma belle</i>: + Let us change places." Gladly heard. + The Spider took her at her word. + In the dark hovel she can spin: + No broom comes there with bustling din. + The Gout, on her part, pleased to trudge, + Goes straightway--wise as any judge-- + Unto a bishop, and with whims + So fetters his tormented limbs, + That he from bed can never budge. + Spasms! + Cataplasms! + Heaven knows, the doctors make the curse + Steal steadily from bad to worse. + Both sisters gloried in the change, + And never after wished to range. + + + + + FABLE LIX. + + + THE EYE OR THE MASTER. + + + A Stag sought refuge from the chase + Among the oxen of a stable, + Who counselled him--if he was able-- + To find a better hiding-place. + "My brothers," said the fugitive, + "Betray me not; and I will show + The richest pastures that I know; + Your kindness you will ne'er regret, + With interest I'll pay the debt." + The oxen promised well to keep + The secret: couched for quiet sleep, + Safe in a tranquil privacy, + The Stag lay down, and breathed more free. + + + [Illustration: THE EYE OF THE MASTER.] + + + At even-time they brought fresh hay, + As was their custom day by day; + Men went and came, ah! very near, + And last of all the overseer, + Yet carelessly, for horns nor hair + Showed that the hiding stag was there. + The forest dweller's gratitude + Was great, and in a joyous mood + He waited till the labour ceased, + And oxen were from toil released, + Leaving the exit once more free, + To end his days of slavery. + A ruminating bullock cried, + "All now goes well; but woe betide + When that man with the hundred eyes + Shall come, and you, poor soul! surprise? + I fear the watchful look he'll take, + And dread his visit for your sake; + Boast not until the end, for sure + Your boasting may be premature." + She had not time to utter more, + The master opened quick the door. + "How's this, you rascal men?" said he; + "These empty racks will never do! + Go to the loft; this litter, too, + Is not the thing. I want to see + More care from those that work for me; + Whose turn these cobwebs to brush out? + These collars, traces?--look about!" + Then gazing round, he spies a head, + Where a fat ox should be instead; + The frightened stag they recognise. + In vain the tears roll from his eyes; + They fall on him with furious blows, + Each one a thrust, until, to close, + They kill and salt the wretched beast, + And cook him up for many a feast. + + Phædrus hath put it pithily, + The master's is the eye for me, + The lover's, too, is quick to see. + + + + + FABLE LX. + + + THE WOLF AND THE STORK. + + + Wolves are too prone to play the glutton. + One, at a certain feast, 'tis said, + Fell with such fury on his mutton, + He gave himself quite up for dead, + For in his throat a bone stuck fast. + A Stork, by special stroke of luck, + As he stood speechless, came at last. + He beckoned, and she ran to aid, + No whit afraid. + A surgeon, and a very friend in need, + She drew the bone out. For the cure she'd made + She simply asked her fee. + "Fie!" said the Wolf, "you jeer at me, + My worthy gossip. Only see: + What! is it not enough that, sound and safe, + You drew your neck back from my gullet, + My pretty pullet? + You are ungrateful. Now, then, go; + Beware, another time, my blow." + + + + + FABLE LXI. + + + THE LION DEFEATED BY MAN. + + + A picture was exhibited, one day, + In which an artisan had sought + To paint a lion which had fought, + And had been beaten in the fray. + The passers-by were full of self-applause. + A Lion who looked on reproached the crowd: + "Yes, here I see," he said, "the victory is man's: + The artisan had his own plans; + But if my brothers painted, they'd be proud + To show you man prostrate beneath our claws." + + + + + FABLE LXII. + + + THE SWAN AND THE COOK. + + + In a menagerie a Swan and Goose + Lived like sworn friends, in peace and amity. + This one was meant to please the master's eye, + The other fitted for his palate's use: + This for the garden, that one for the board. + The château's fosse was their long corridor, + Where they could swim, in sight of their liege lord, + Splash, drink, and paddle, or fly o'er and o'er, + Unwearied of their pastime, down the moat. + One day the Cook, taking a cup too much, + Mistook the birds, and, seizing by the throat, + Was just about to kill--his blindness such-- + The helpless Swan, and thrust him in the pot. + The bird began to sing his dying song: + The Cook, in great surprise, + Opened his sleepy eyes. + "What do I do?" he said; "I had forgot: + No, no, Jove willing! may my neck be strung, + Before I kill a bird that sings so well." + + Thus, in the dangers that around us throng, + Soft words are often useful, as it here befell. + + + + + FABLE LXIII. + + + THE WOLF, THE GOAT, AND THE KID. + + + The She-Goat going out to feed + Upon the young grass in the mead, + Closed not the latch until she bid + Her youngest born, her darling kid, + Take care to open door to none, + Or if she did, only to one + Who gave the watchword of the place-- + "Curse to the Wolf and all his race!" + The Wolf was just then passing by, + And having no bad memory, + Laid the spell by, a perfect treasure + Ready to be used at leisure. + The Kid, so tender and so small, + Had never seen a wolf at all. + The mother gone, the hypocrite + Assumes a voice demure and fit-- + "The Wolf be cursed! come, pull the latch." + The Kid says, peeping through a chink, + "Show me a white foot" (silly patch), + "Or I'll not open yet the door, I think." + White paws are rare with wolves--not yet in fashion. + The Wolf surprised, and dumb with secret passion, + Went as he came, and sneaked back to his lair: + The Kid had lost her life without that care, + Had she but listened to the word + The watchful Wolf had overheard. + Two sureties are twice as good as one, + Without them she had been undone. + And so I boldly say, + That too much caution's never thrown away. + + + + + FABLE LXIV. + + + THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD. + + + This Wolf recalls another to my mind-- + A friend who found Fate more unkind-- + Caught in a neater way, you'll see; + He perished--here's the history: + A peasant dwelt in a lone farm; + The Wolf, his watch intent to keep, + Saw in and out, not tearing harm, + Slim calves and lambs, and old fat sheep, + And regiment of turkeys strutting out; + In fact, good fare was spread about. + + + [Illustration: THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD.] + + + The thief grew weary of vain wishes + For dainty dishes; + But just then heard an Infant cry, + The mother chiding angrily-- + "Be quiet! + No riot; + Or to the Wolf I'll give you, brat!" + The Wolf cried, "Now, I quite like that;" + And thanked the gods for being good. + The Mother, as a mother should, + Soon calmed the Child. "Don't cry, my pet! + If the Wolf comes, we'll kill him, there!" + "What's this?" the thief was in a fret; + "First this, then that, there's no truth anywhere; + I'm not a fool, you know, + And yet they treat me so. + Some day, when nutting, it may hap + I may surprise the little chap." + As these reflections strike the beast, + A mastiff stops the way, at one fierce bound, + To any future feast, + And rough men gird him round. + "What brought you here?" cries many a one; + He told the tale as I have done. + "Good Heavens!" loud the Mother cried; + "You eat my boy! what! darling here + To stop your hunger? Hush! my dear." + They killed the brute and stripped his hide; + His right foot and his head in state + Adorn the Picard noble's gate; + And this was written underneath + The shrivelled eyes and grinning teeth-- + "Good Master Wolves, believe not all + That mothers say when children squall." + + + + + FABLE LXV. + + + THE LION GROWN OLD. + + + A Lion, once the terror of the plain + (Borne clown with age, and weakened by decay) + Against rebellious vassals fought in vain, + And found his foes the victors of the fray. + The Horse advanced, and gave his king a kick-- + The Wolf a bite--the Ox a brutal butt: + Meanwhile the Lion, worn, and sad, and sick, + Could scarce resent this, the "unkindest cut." + + But when an Ass came running to the place, + The monarch murmured, with his latest breath, + "Enough! I wished to die, but this disgrace + Imparts a twofold bitterness to death." + + + + + FABLE LXVI. + + + THE DROWNED WOMAN. + + + I am not one of those who coolly say, + "It's nought but just a woman who is drowned!" + I say it's much, yes, much in every way. + The sex I reverence. Taking them all round, + They are the joy of life, then let their praise resound. + And these remarks are really <i>apropos</i>: + My fable treating of a woman lost + In a deep river. Ill luck willed it so. + Her husband sought her, at each ford she'd crossed, + To place her body in a fitting tomb. + And as he wandered by the fatal shore + Of the swift stream that bore his wife away, + The people passing he asked o'er and o'er, + If they had seen her on that luckless day. + They'd not e'en heard of his sad loss before. + "No," said the first; "but seek her lower down: + Follow the stream, and you will find her yet." + Another answer'd: "Follow her! no, no; that's wrong. + Go further up, and she'll be there, I bet, + Whether the current's weak, or the tide strong." + It's my conviction, + Such is a woman's love of contradiction, + She'll float the other way, your soul to fret. + The raillery was out of season; + And yet the heedless boor had reason, + For such is woman's humour still, + To follow out her own good will; + Yes, from her very birthday morn + Till to the churchyard she is borne, + She'd contradict to her last breath, + And wish she could e'en after death. + + + + + FABLE LXVII. + + + THE WEASEL IN THE GRANARY. + + + Once Madame Weasel, slender-waisted, thin, + Into a granary, by a narrow chink, + Crept, sick and hungry; quick she glided in, + To eat her fill, and she was wise, I think. + There at her ease, + No fear of fees, + She gnawed, and nibbled:--gracious, what a life! + The bacon melted in the strife. + Plump and rotund she grew, + As fat as two. + A week was over, + Spent in clover. + But one day, when she'd done--and that not badly-- + A noise alarmed her sadly. + She tried the hole she'd entered, wishing to retreat; + 'Twas no such easy feat. + Was she mistaken?--no, the selfsame door: + She tried it, o'er and o'er. + "Yes, yes," she said, "it is the place, I know; + I passed here but a week ago." + A Rat who saw her puzzled, slily spoke-- + "Your pouch was emptier then, before your fast you broke. + Empty you came, and empty you must quit: + I tell you what I've told a dozen more. + But don't perplex the matter, I implore; + They differed from you in some ways, I do admit." + + + + + FABLE LXVIII. + + + THE LARK AND HER LITTLE ONES WITH THE OWNER OF A FIELD. + + + "Depend upon yourself alone," + Is a sound proverb worthy credit. + In Æsop's time it was well known, + And there (to tell the truth) I read it. + The larks to build their nests began, + When wheat was in the green blade still-- + That is to say, when Nature's plan + Had ordered Love, with conquering will, + To rule the earth, the sea, and air, + Tigers in woods, sea monsters in the deep; + Nor yet refuse a share + To larks that in the cornfields keep. + One bird, however, of these last, + Found that one half the spring was past, + Yet brought no mate, such as the season sent + To others. Then with firm intent + Plighting her troth, and fairly matched, + She built her nest and gravely hatched. + All went on well, the corn waved red + Above each little fledgling's head, + Before they'd strength enough to fly, + And mount into the April sky. + A hundred cares the mother Lark compel + To seek with patient care the daily food; + But first she warns her restless brood + To watch, and peep, and listen well, + And keep a constant sentinel; + "And if the owner comes his corn to see, + His son, too, as 'twill likely be, + Take heed, for when we're sure of it, + And reapers come, why, we must flit." + No sooner was the Lark away, + Than came the owner with his son. + "The wheat is ripe," he said, "so run, + And bring our friends at peep of day, + Each with his sickle sharp and ready." + The Lark returns: alarm already + + + [Illustration: THE LARK AND HER LITTLE ONES.] + + + Had seized the covey. One commences-- + "He said himself, at early morn, + His friends he'd call to reap the corn." + The old Lark said--"If that is all, + My worthy children, keep your senses; + No hurry till the first rows fall. + We'll not go yet, dismiss all fear, + To-morrow keep an open ear; + Here's dinner ready, now be gay." + They ate and slept the time away. + The morn arrives to wake the sleepers, + Aurora comes, but not the reapers. + The Lark soars up: and on his round + The farmer comes to view his ground. + "This wheat," he said, "ought not to stand; + Our friends are wrong no helping hand + To give, and we are wrong to trust + Such lazy fools for half a crust, + Much less for labour. Sons," he cried, + "Go, call our kinsmen on each side, + We'll go to work." The little Lark + Grew more afraid. "Now, mother, mark, + The work within an hour's begun." + The mother answered--"Sleep, my son; + We will not leave our house to-night." + Well, no one came; the bird was right. + The third time came the master by: + "Our error's great," he said, repentantly: + "No friend is better than oneself; + Remember that, my boy, it's worth some pelf. + Now what to do? + Why, I and you + Must whet our sickles and begin; + That is the shortest way, I see; + I know at last the surest plan: + We'll make our harvest as we can." + No sooner had the Lark o'erheard-- + "'Tis time to flit, my children; come," + Cried out the very prudent bird. + Little and big went fluttering, rising, + Soaring in a way surprising, + And left without a beat of drum. + + + + + FABLE LXIX. + + + THE FLY AND THE ANT. + + + + The Fly and Ant once quarrelled seriously: + "O Jupiter!" the first exclaimed, "how vanity + Blinds the weak mind! This mean and crawling thing + Actually ventures to compare + With me, the daughter of the air. + The palace I frequent, and on the board + I taste the ox before our sovereign lord; + While this poor paltry creature lives for days + On the small straw she drags through devious ways. + Come, Mignon, tell me plainly now, + Do you camp ever on a monarch's brow, + Or on a beauty's cheek? Well, I do so,-- + And on her bosom, too, I'd have you know. + I sport among her curls; I place + Myself upon her blooming face. + The ladies bound for conquest go + To us for patches; their necks' snow + With spots of blackness well contrast, + Of all her toilette cares the last. + Come, now, good fellow, rack your brain, + And let us hear of sense some grain." + "Well, have you done?" replied the Ant. + "You haunt king's palaces, I grant; + But then, by every one you're cursed. + It's very likely you taste first + The gods' own special sacred feast: + Nor is it better, sir, for that. + The fane you enter, with the train-- + So do the godless and profane. + On heads of kings or dogs, 'tis plain, + You settle freely when not wanted, + And you are punished often--granted. + You talk of patches on a belle, + I, too, should patch them just as well. + The name your vanity delights, + Frenchmen bestow on parasites; + Cease, then, to be so grossly vain, + Your aspirations, Miss, restrain; + Your namesakes are exiled or hung, + And you with famine will be clung. + With cold and freezing misery, + Will come your time of penury, + When our King Phœbus goes to cheer + And rule the other hemisphere: + But I shall live upon my store, + My labours for the summer o'er, + Nor over mountains and seas go, + Through storm and rain, and drifting snow; + No sorrow near me will alloy + The fulness of the present joy; + Past trouble bars out future care, + True not false glory is our share; + And this I wish to show to you-- + Time flies, and I must work. Adieu! + This idle chattering will not fill + My little granary and till." + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXX. + + + THE GARDENER AND HIS MASTER. + + + An amateur of flowers--bourgeois and yet clown-- + Had made a garden far from any town; + Neat, trim, and snug, it was the village pride; + Green quickset hedges girt its every side; + There the rank sorrel and the lettuce grew, + And Spanish jasmine for his Margot, too, + Jonquils for holidays, and crisp dry thyme; + But all this happiness, one fatal time, + Was marred by a hare; his grief and woe + Compel the peasant to his lord to go. + "This cursed animal," he says, "by night + And day comes almost hourly for his bite; + He spurns my cunning, and defies my snares, + For stones and sticks he just as little cares; + He is a wizard, that is very sure, + And for a wizard is there, sir, a cure?" + "Wizard, be hanged!" the lord said; "you shall see, + His tricks and his wiles will not avail with me; + I'll scare the rascal, on my faith, good man." + "And when?" "To-morrow; I have got a plan." + The thing agreed, he comes with all his troop. + "Good! let us lunch--fowls tender in the coop? + That girl your daughter? come to me, my dear! + When you betroth her, there's a brave lad here. + I know, good man, the matrimonial curse + Digs plaguey deep into a father's purse." + The lord, so saying, nearer draws his chair, + Plays with the clusters of the daughter's hair, + Touches her hand, her arm, with gay respect, + Follies that make a father half suspect + Her coyness is assumed; meantime they dine, + Squander the meat, play havoc with the wine. + "I like these hams, their flavour and their look." + "Sir, they are yours." "Thanks: take them to my cook." + He dined, and amply; his retainers, too; + Dogs, horses, valets, all well toothed, nor few; + My lord commands, such liberties he takes, + And fond professions to the daughter makes. + The dinner over, and the wine passed round, + The hunters rise, and horns and bugles sound; + They rouse the game with such a wild halloo, + The good man is astonished at the crew; + The worst was that, amid this noise and clack, + The little kitchen garden went to wrack. + Adieu the beds! adieu the borders neat! + Peas, chicory, all trodden under feet. + Adieu the future soup! The frightened hare + Beneath a monster cabbage made his lair. + They seek him--find him; "After him, my boys!" + He seeks the well-known hole with little noise; + Yet not a hole, rather a wound they made + In the poor hedge with hoof and hunting-blade. + "By the lord's orders it would never do + To leave the garden but on horseback, no." + The good man says; "Royal your sports may be, + Call them whate'er you like, but pity me; + Those dogs and people did more harm to-day + Than all the hares for fifty years, I say." + + + + + FABLE LXXI. + + + THE WOODMAN AND MERCURY. + + + TO M. THE COUNT DE B----. + + + Your taste has always been to me a guide; + I've sought in many ways to win your vote: + Fastidious cares you often would deride, + Forbad me on vain ornament to dote. + I think with you an author wastes his days, + Who tries with over-care his tale to tell; + Yet, it's not wise to banish certain traits + Of subtle grace, that you and I love well. + With Æsop's aim, I simply do my best; + And fail--well, just as little as I can. + Try to instruct by reasoning or jest; + No fault of mine if no one likes my plan. + Rude strength is not by any means my forte; + I seek to pelt, with playful ridicule, + Folly and vice; and tease the motley fool + With stinging missiles--any way, in short; + Not having brawny arms, like Hercules. + That is my only talent, that I know. + I have no strength to stem the angry seas, + Or set all honest people in a glow. + Sometimes I try to paint in fabled guise, + A foolish vanity, with envy blended; + Two of life's pivots, mocked at by the wise, + In satires long ago, and not yet ended. + Such, was the miserable creature, + Mean and poor in shape, in feature, + That tried to puff herself into an ox. + Sometimes I try, by playful paradox, + To pair a vice with virtue, folly with good sense, + Lambs with gaunt wolves, the ant to match the fly; + Everywhere laughing at the fool's expense, + I mould my work into a comedy, + + + [Illustration: THE WOODMAN AND MERCURY.] + + + With countless acts, the universe its scene, + Boundless as the blue serene. + Men, gods, and brutes each play their part, + With more or less of truth and art. + Jove like the rest--come, Mercury; + Ah! look, why there he comes, I see; + The messenger who's wont to bear + Jove's frequent errands to the fair-- + But more of that another day. + + A Woodman's axe had gone astray, + The winner of his bread was gone; + And he sat moaning all alone. + He had no wealth to buy such things: + The axe his clothes and dinner brings. + Hopeless, and in a murky place, + He sat, the tears ran down his face. + "My own, my poor old axe! Ah! me, + Great Jupiter, I pray to thee; + But give it back from down below, + And I will strike for thee a blow." + His prayer was in Olympus heard; + Mercury entered at the word. + "Your hatchet is not lost," said he; + "But will you know it, when you see? + I found an axe, just now, hard by." + A golden axe he presently + Showed to the honest man; but "Nay" + Was all the fellow cared to say. + Next one of silver he refused; + Silver or gold he never used. + Then one of simple steel and wood; + "That's mine!" he cried. "Ah! thankee--good; + I'm quite content with this, you see." + "Come," said the god, "then take the three-- + That's my reward for honesty." + "In that case, then, I am content," + The rustic said, and off he went. + The rumour buzzed the country through, + Soon others lost their axes, too; + And shouting prayers unto the sky, + Jove Mercury sent, to make reply. + To each he showed an axe of gold-- + Who but a fool could it behold, + And not say, when he saw it shine-- + "Hurrah! that's it--yes, that is mine?" + But Mercury gave each rogue instead + A heavy thump upon the head. + + He who with simple truth's content, + Will never of his choice repent: + To tell a lie for interest, + Was never yet of ways the best. + What does it profit thus to stoop? + Jove is not made an easy dupe. + + + + + FABLE LXXII. + + + THE ASS AND THE LITTLE DOG. + + + To ape a talent not your own + Is foolish; no one can affect a grace. + A blundering blockhead better leave alone + The gallant's bows, and tricks, and smiling face. + To very few is granted Heaven's dower-- + Few have infused into their life the power + To please, so better far to leave the charm + To them. And may I ask you, where's the harm? + One would not bear resemblance to the Ass, + Who wishing to be dearer to his master, + Amiably went to kiss him; so it came to pass + There followed instantly no small disaster. + "What!" said he, "shall this paltry thing + Assume by dint of toadying, + Win Madam's friendly fellowship, + And twist and gambol, fawn and skip, + While I have only blows? no, no! + What does he do?--why, all fools know-- + He gives his paw; the thing is done, + And then they kiss him every one. + If that is all, upon my word, + To call it difficult 's absurd." + Full of this glorious thought, one luckless day, + Seeing his master smiling pass that way, + The clumsy creature comes, and clumsily + Chucks with his well-worn hoof quite gallantly + His master's chin; to please him still the more, + With voice, so sweet, sonorous brays his best. + "Oh, what caresses, and what melody!" + The master cries; "Ho! Martin, come, be quick! + And, Martin, bring the heaviest stick!" + Then Martin comes; the donkey changed his tune. + So ended the brief comedy + In bitter blows and misery. + Donkeys' ambitions pass so soon. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXIII. + + + MAN AND THE WOODEN IDOL. + + + A certain Pagan had a god of wood-- + Deaf was the idol, yet had ears enough; + The Pagan promised to himself much good. + It cost as much as three men; for his fears + Induced repeated vows and offerings; + Fat oxen crowned with garlands and such things. + Never an idol--think of that-- + Boasted of victims half as fat. + Yet all this worship brought no grace, + Treasure or legacy, or luck at play; + What's more, if any single storm came near the place, + This man was sure to have to pay; + Yet all the time the god dined well. Now, was this fair? + At last, impatient at the costly care, + He takes a crowbar, and the Idol smashes + (Crashes). + Forth comes a stream of gold. + "I feasted you with offerings manifold, + And you were never worth an obolus to me; + Now leave," he said, "my hospitality, + Seek out another altar. I hold thee + One of those gross and stupid creatures + With wicked and untoward natures + Whose gratitude can never grow; + But after many a heavy blow, + The more I gave the less I got; I own + It's very well I changed my tone." + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXIV. + + + THE JAY DRESSED IN PEACOCK'S PLUMES. + + + A Peacock having moulted, the sly Jay + Put on the thrown-off plumage with delight; + Amongst some other Peacocks found his way, + And thought himself a fascinating sight. + At last the would-be beau got recognised, + A charlatan, in borrowed plumes equipt-- + And laughed at, scouted, hustled, and despised, + Of all his second-hand attire got stript; + Returning to his friends, abashed and poor, + They most politely showed him to the door. + Two-footed Jays are anything but rare, + Who live on facts and fancies not their own; + But these are, luckily, not my affair, + So let me leave the plagiarists alone. + + + [Illustration: THE LITTLE FISH AND THE FISHERMAN.] + + + + + FABLE LXXV. + + + THE LITTLE FISH AND THE FISHERMAN. + + + A little Fish will larger grow, in time, + If God will only grant him life; and yet + To let him free out of the tangling net + Is folly; and I mean it, though I rhyme: + The catching him again is not so sure, <i>c'est tout.</i> + A little Carp, who half a summer knew, + Was taken by an angler's crafty hook. + "All count," the man said; "this begins my feast: + I'll put it in my basket." "Here, just look!" + Exclaimed, in his own way, the tiny beast. + "Now what on earth can you, sir, want with me? + I'm not quite half a mouthful, as you see. + Let me grow up, and catch me when I'm tall, + Then some rich epicure will buy me dear; + But now you'll want a hundred, that is plain, + Aye, and as much again, + To make a dish; and what dish, after all? + Why, good for nothing." "Good for nothing, eh?" + Replied the Angler. "Come, my little friend, + Into the pan you go; so end. + Your sermon pleases me, exceedingly. + To-night we'll try + How you will fry." + + The present, not the future, tense + Is that preferred by men of sense. + The one is sure that you have got: + The other, verily, is not. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXVI. + + + BATTLE BETWEEN THE RATS AND WEASELS. + + + The Weasel nation, like the Cats, + Are always fighting with the Rats; + And did the Rats not squeeze their way + Through doors so narrow, I must say, + The long-backed creatures would slip in, + And swallow all their kith and kin. + One certain year it did betide, + When Rats were greatly multiplied, + Their king, illustrious Ratapon, + His army to the field led on. + The Weasels, too, were soon arrayed, + And the old flag again displayed. + If Fame reported just and true, + Victory paused between the two; + Till fallows were enriched and red + With blood the rival armies shed; + But soon in every place + Misfortune met the Rattish race. + The rout was so complete, the foe + More dreadful grew at every blow; + And what avails brave Artapax, + Meridarpax, Psicarpax? + Who, covered both with dust and gore, + Drove back the Weasels thrice and more, + Till driven slowly from the plain, + E'en their great courage proved in vain! + 'Twas Fate that ruled that dreadful hour: + Then each one ran who had the power; + Soldier and captain, jostling fled, + But all the princes were struck dead; + The private, nimble in his feet, + Unto his hole made snug retreat. + The noble, with his lofty plume, + Found that he had by no means room. + To strike with terror--yes, or whether + A mark of honour--rose the feather, + That led to much calamity, + As very soon the nobles see; + Neither in cranny, hole, or crack, + Was space found for the plumed pack. + In the meantime, the populace + Found access to each lurking-place, + So that the largest heap of slain + From the Rat noblemen is ta'en. + + A nodding feather in the cap + Is oftentimes a great mishap; + A big and over-gilded coach + Will sometimes stop up an approach; + The smaller people, in most cases, + Escape by unregarded places: + Men soon are on great people's traces. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXVII. + + + THE CAMEL AND THE DRIFT-WOOD. + + + The first who saw a real live Camel + Ran for his life; the second ventured near; + The third, with ready rope, without a fear, + Made a strong halter the wild thing to trammel. + Habit has power to quickly change + Things that at first seem odd and strange; + Stale they grow, and quickly tame, + And hardly seem to be the same. + And since the question's open, once there stood + A look-out watching all the distant flood; + And seeing something far off on the ocean, + Could not conceal his notion + It was a man-of-war; a moment past + It turned a fire ship, all ataunt and brave, + Then a big boat, and next a bale, and last + Some mere drift timber jostling on the wave. + + How many things watched by the world agree + In this--that far away you see + That there is something, yet when sought, + And seen still nearer, it proves nought. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXVIII. + + + THE FROG AND THE RAT. + + + Merlin said well, that those who often cheat + Will sometimes cheat themselves--the phrase is old. + I'm sorry that it is, I must repeat + It's full of energy, and sound as gold. + But to my story: once a well-fed Rat, + Rotund and wealthy, plump and fat, + Not knowing either Fast or Lent, + Lounging beside a marsh pool went. + A Frog addressed him in the Frog's own tongue, + And asked him home to dinner civilly. + No need to make the invitation long. + He spoke, however, of the things he'd see: + The pleasant bath, worth curiosity; + The novelties along the marsh's shore, + The score and score + Of spots of beauty, manners of the races, + The government of various places, + Some day he would recount with glee + Unto his youthful progeny; + One thing alone the gallant vexed, + And his adventurous soul perplexed; + He swam but little, and he needed aid. + The friendly Frog was undismayed; + His paw to hers she strongly tied, + And then they started side by side. + The hostess towed her frightened guest + Quick to the bottom of the lake-- + Perfidious breach of law of nations-- + All promises she faithless breaks, + And sinks her friend to make fresh rations. + Already did her appetite + Dwell on the morsel with delight, + Lunch, + Scrunch! + He prays the gods; she mocks his woe; + He struggles up; she pulls below. + And while this combat is fought out, + A Kite that's seeking all about + Sees the poor Rat that's like to drown; + And pounces swift as lightning down. + The Frog tied to him, by the way, + Also became the glad Kite's prey; + They gave him all that he could wish, + A supper both of meat and fish. + + So oftentimes a base deceit + Falls back upon the father cheat; + So oftentimes doth perfidy + Return with triple usury. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration: THE OLD WOMAN AND HER SERVANTS.] + + + + + FABLE LXXIX. + + + THE OLD WOMAN AND HER SERVANTS. + + + A Beldam kept two maids, whose spinning + Outdid the Fates. No care had she + But setting tasks that, still beginning, + Went on to all infinity. + Phœbus had scarcely shaken out + His golden locks, ere wheels were winding, + And spindles whirled and danced about, + The spools of thread these captives binding: + Whiz--whiz; no resting; work and work! + Soon as Aurora showed her face, + A crowing Cock aroused the Turk, + Who, scrambling on her gown apace, + Lit up the lamp, and sought the bed + Where, with good will and appetite, + Each wretched servant's weary head + Had rested for the blessed night. + One opened half an eye; the other stretched + A weary arm; both, under breath, + Vowed (poor worn-out and weary wretches!) + To squeeze that Chanticleer to death. + The deed was done: they trapped the bird. + And yet it wrought them little good; + For now, ere well asleep, they heard + The old crone, fearing lest they should + O'ersleep themselves, their watchful warner gone; + She never left them less alone. + + And so it is, that often men + Who think they're getting to the shore, + Are sucked back by the sea once more. + This couple are a proof again + How near Charybdis Scylla's whirlpools roar. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXX. + + + THE ANIMALS SENDING A TRIBUTE TO ALEXANDER. + + + A Fable current in the ancient times + Had surely meaning; but none clear to me. + Its moral's somewhere, reader, in these rhymes, + So here's the thing itself for you to see. + Fame had loud rumoured in a thousand places + Of Jove's great son, a certain Alexander, + Who had resolved, however sour men's faces, + To leave none free; moreover, this commander + Had summoned every living thing beneath the skies + To come and worship at his sovereign feet: + Quadrupeds, bipeds, elephants, and flies; + The bird republic, also, were to meet. + The goddess of the hundred mouths, I say, + Having thus spread a wide dismay, + By publishing the conqueror's decree, + The animals, and all that do obey + Their appetites alone, began to think that now + They should be kept in slavery, + And to fresh laws and other customs bow. + They met in the wild desert and decide, + After long sittings and conflicting chatter, + To pay a tribute, pocketing their pride. + The Monkey was to manage style and matter + (Chief of all diplomats in every way); + They write down what he has to say. + The tribute only vexed the creatures: + No money! how their cash to pay? + Well from a prince, who chanced to own + Some mines of gold, they got a loan. + To bear the tribute volunteered + The Mule and Ass, and they were cheered; + The Horse and Camel lent their aid. + Then gaily started all the four, + Led by the new ambassador. + The caravan went on till, in a narrow place, + They saw his majesty the Lion's face; + They did not like his look at all, + Still less when he began to call. + "Well met; and just in time," quoth he; + "Your fellow-traveller I will be; + Your toil I wish to freely share, + My tribute's light, yet hard to bear; + I'm not accustomed to a load; so, please, + Take each a quarter at your ease, + To you 'tis nothing, that I feel; + If robbers come to pick and steal, + I shall not be the last to fight: + A Lion is not backward in a fray." + They welcome him, and he's in pleasant plight; + So, spite of Jove-sprung hero, every day + Upon the public purse he battens, + And on good deer he quickly fattens. + They reach at last a meadow land, + With flowers besprinkled, fed by brooks; + The sheep feed there on either hand, + Unguarded by the shepherd's crooks: + It is the summer zephyr's home. + No sooner has the Lion come, + Than he of fever much complains; + "Continue, sirs, your embassy," + Said he; "but burning, darting pains + Torment me now exceedingly. + I seek some herb for speedy cure; + You must not long delay, I'm sure; + Give me my money; quick! I'm hurried." + Then quickly out the gold was scurried. + The Lion, quite delighted, cried, + In tones that showed his joy and pride, + "Ye gods! my gold has hatched its brood; + And, look! the young ones are all grown + Big as the old ones; that is good: + The increase comes to me alone." + He took the whole, although he was not bid; + Or if he didn't, some one like him did. + The Monkey and his retinue + Half frightened and half angry grew, + But did not dare reply; so left him there. + 'Tis said that they complained at court; but where + Was then the use? in vain their loud abuse. + What could he do? Jove's royal scion! + 'Twould have been Lion against Lion. + 'Tis said when Corsairs fight Corsairs, + They are not minding their affairs. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXXI. + + + THE HORSE WISHING TO BE REVENGED ON THE STAG. + + + Horses were once as free as air, + When man on acorns lived content. + Ass, horse, and mule unfettered went + Through field and forest, anywhere, + Without a thought of toil and care. + Nor saw one then, as in this age, + Saddles and pillions every stage, + Harness for march, and work, and battle, + Or chaises drawn by hungry cattle. + Nor were there then so many marriages, + Nor feasts that need a host of carriages. + 'Twas at this time there was a keen dispute + Between a Stag who quarrelled with a Horse, + Unable to run down the nimble brute: + To kindly Man he came, for aid, of course; + Man bridled him and leaped upon his back, + Nor rested till the Stag was caught and slain. + The Horse thanked heartily the Man, good lack: + "Adieu, yours truly, I'll trot off again, + Home to the wild wood and the breezy plain." + "Not quite so fast," the smiling Man replied, + "I know too well your use, you must remain; + I'll treat you well, yes, very well," he cried: + "Up to your ears the provender shall be, + And you shall feed in ease and luxury." + Alas! what's food without one's liberty? + The Horse his folly soon perceived; + But far too late the creature grieved. + His stable was all ready near the spot, + And there, with halter round his neck, he died, + Wiser had he his injuries forgot. + Revenge is sweet to injured pride; + But it is bought too dear, if bought + With that without which all things else are nought. + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXXII. + + + THE FOX AND THE BUST. + + + The great too often wear the actor's mask; + The vulgar worshippers the show beguiles; + The ass looks on the surface; 'tis the task + Of the wise Fox to go far deeper; full of wiles, + He pries on every side, and turns, and peeps, + And watches--Reynard never sleeps. + And when he finds in many a place + The great man nothing but a pompous face, + Repeats, what once he subtly said + Unto a hero's plaster head--- + A hollow bust, and of enormous size-- + Praising it with contemptuous eyes, + "Fine head," said he, "but without brains." + The saving's worth the listener's pains; + To many a noble lord the <i>mot</i> applies. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration: THE HORSE AND THE WOLF.] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXXIII. + + + THE HORSE AND THE WOLF. + + + A certain Wolf, in that soft, pleasant season, + When gentle zephyrs freshen every flower, + And animals leave home, for this good reason-- + They want to make their hay before the shower: + A Wolf, I say, after rough winters rigour, + Perceived a Horse newly turned out to grass. + You may imagine what his joy was. Vigour + Came to him, when he saw the creature pass. + "Good game!" he said; "I wonder for whose spit? + No sheep this time--I only wish you were. + But this wants cunning, and some little wit: + Then let's be cunning." So--with learned air, + As practised scholar of Hippocrates, + Who knew the virtues and demerits, too, + Of all the simples of the fields and leas, + And knew the way to cure (the praise is due) + All sorts of sad diseases--if Sir Horse + Would tell his malady, he'd cure the ill, + Quite gratis; for to see him course, + Wandering untethered, at his own free will, + Showed something wrong, if science did not err. + "I have an aposthume," the Horse replied, + "Under my foot." "My son," the doctor cried, + "There is no part so sensitive to blows. + I have the honour to attend your race, + And am a surgeon, too, the whole world knows." + The rascal only waited opportunity + To leap upon the invalid's sunk flanks. + The Horse, who had mistrust, impatiently + Gave him a kick, expressive of his thanks, + That made a marmalade of teeth and jaws. + "Well done!" the Wolf growled, to himself reflecting: + "Each one should stick to his own trade. My claws + Were made for butchery, not herb-collecting." + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXXIV. + + + THE SAYING OF SOCRATES. + + + A house was built by Socrates, + That failed the public taste to please. + One thought the inside, not to tell a lie, + Unworthy of the wise man's dignity. + Another blamed the front; and one and all + Agreed the rooms were very much too small. + "What! such a house for our great sage, + The pride and wonder of the age!" + "Would Heaven," said he, quite weary of the Babel, + "Was only able. + Small as it is, to fill it with true friends." + And here the story ends. + + Just reason had good Socrates + To find his house too large for these. + Each man you meet as friend, your hand will claim; + Fool, if you trust the proffers that such bring. + There's nothing commoner than Friendship's name; + There's nothing rarer than the thing. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXXV. + + + THE OLD MAN AND HIS CHILDREN. + + + All power is feeble, if it's disunited: + Upon this head now hear the Phrygian slave. + If I add verse to his, which has delighted, + It's not from envy; but in hopes to grave + And paint our modern manners--feeble-sighted-- + Had I ambition for mere foolish aims. + Phædrus, in eager search for glory, + Enriched full many an ancient story; + Ill-fitting me were such pretentious claims. + But let us to our fable--rather history, + Of him who tried to make his sons agree. + An Old Man, when Death called, prepared to go--- + "My children dear," he said, "try now to break + This knotted sheaf of arrows. I will show + The way they're tied--what progress can you make?" + The eldest, having done his very best, + Exclaimed, "I yield them to a stronger one." + The second strove across his knee and chest, + Then passed them quickly to the younger son: + They lost their time, the bundle was too strong, + The shafts together none could snap or bend. + "Weak creatures!" said their sire, "pass them along; + My single arm the riddle soon will end." + They laughed, and thought him joking; but not so, + Singly the arrows quickly fell in twain; + "Thus may you concord's power, my children, know; + Agree in love and never part again." + He spoke no more, he felt his life was done; + And then, perceiving death was very near, + "Dear sons," said he, "I go where all have gone; + Promise to live like brothers; let me hear + Your joint vow--now, grant your father this:" + Then, weeping, each one gives the parting kiss. + He joins their hands and dies; a large estate + He left, but tangled up with heavy debts. + This creditor seized land still in debate; + That neighbour brought an action for assets: + The brothers' love was short, you well may guess; + Blood joined and interest severed the brief tie; + Ambition, envy, led to base <i>finesse</i>-- + The subdivision bred chicanery. + The judge by turns condemns them all, + Neighbours and creditors assail; + To loggerheads the plighted brothers fall. + The union's sundered--one agrees + To compromise; the other ventures on, + And soon the money is all gone + In wrangling about lawyers' fees. + They lose their wealth, and then, downhearted, + Regretful talk of how, in joke, + Their father broke + Those arrows, when they once were parted. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXXVI. + + + THE ORACLE AND THE IMPIOUS MAN. + + + None wish to cozen heaven but the fool; + The mystic labyrinths of the human heart + Lie open to the gods in every part: + All that man does is under their wise rule, + Even things done in darkness are revealed + To those from whom no single act's concealed. + A Pagan--a vile rogue in grain, + Whose faith in gods, it's very plain, + Was but to use them as a dictionary, + For consultation wary-- + Went once to try Apollo to deceive, + With or without his leave. + "Is what I hold," he said, "alive or no?" + He held a sparrow, you must know, + Prepared to kill it or to let it fly; + To give the god at once the lie. + Apollo saw the plan within his head, + And answered-- + "Dead or alive," he said, "produce your sparrow. + Try no more tricks, for I can always foil; + Such stratagems, you see, do but recoil. + I see afar, and far I cast my arrow." + + + [Illustration] + + + + + + + + FABLE LXXXVII. + + + THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOUR. + + + Mountain in labour announced the new birth + With clamour so loud that the people all thought + 'Twould at least bear a city, the largest on earth. + It was merely a Mouse that the incident brought. + + When I think of this fable, so false in its fact, + And so true in its moral, it brings to my mind + Those common-place authors who try to attract + Attention by means of the subjects they find. + "I will sing about Jove and the Titans," cries one; + But how often the song comes to nothing, when done! + + + + [Illustration: FORTUNE AND THE LITTLE CHILD.] + + + + + FABLE LXXXVIII. + + + FORTUNE AND THE LITTLE CHILD. + + + Beside a well profoundly deep + A Schoolboy laid him down to sleep. + Ere care has racked with aches the head, + The hardest bank 's a feather bed; + A grown-up man, in such a case, + Had leaped a furlong from the place. + Happy for him, just then came by + Fortune, and saw him heedless lie. + She woke him softly, speaking mild: + "I've saved your life, you see, my child. + Another time you close your eyes, + Be just a little bit more wise. + If you had fallen down below, + 'Twould have been laid to me, I know, + Though your own fault; and now, I pray, + Before I take myself away, + In honest truth you'll own the same, + For I was hardly here to blame. + It was not <i>my</i> caprice or joke." + The goddess vanished as she spoke. + + And she was right; for never yet + Have any a misfortune met, + But Fortune's blamed: she has to pay + For our misdoings every day. + For all mad, foolish, ill-planned schemes + We try to justify our dreams + By rating her with curses strong. + In one word, <i>Fortune's always wrong.</i> + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE LXXXIX. + + + THE EARTHEN POT AND THE IRON POT. + + + "Neighbour," said the Iron Pot, + "Let us go abroad a little." + "Thank you, I would rather not," + Was the answer that he got. + Earthenware, you know, is brittle; + And the weaker Pot was wiser + Than to trust his bad adviser. + + "Mighty well for <i>you</i>" said he; + "Skin like yours can hardly suffer + Very much by land or sea, + That is clear; but, as for <i>me</i>, + Stop till I'm a little tougher. + <i>You</i> may roam the wide world over; + I shall stay at home in clover." + + "Friend!" the Iron Pot replied, + "Don't let such a fear affect you; + I shall travel at your side: + So, whatever may betide, + Cling to me, and I'll protect you." + Having won his friend's compliance, + Off they started in alliance. + + Jigging, jogging, on they went, + Knocking one against the other; + Till the Earthen Pot was sent + (Past the powers of cement) + Into atoms by his brother. + 'Twas his <i>own</i> imprudence, clearly, + That was paid for very dearly. + + With our equals let us mate, + Or dread the weaker vessel's fate. + + + + + + FABLE XC. + + + THE HARE'S EARS. + + + The Lion, wounded by some subject's horn, + Was naturally wroth, and made decree + That all by whom such ornaments were worn + From his domains forthwith should banished be. + Bulls, Rams, and Goats at once obeyed the law: + The Deer took flight, without an hour's delay. + A timid Hare felt smitten, when he saw + The shadow of his ears, with deep dismay. + He feared that somebody, with eyes too keen, + Might call them horns, they looked so very long. + "Adieu, friend Cricket," whispered he; "I mean + To quit the place directly, right or wrong. + These ears are perilous; and, though I wore + A couple short as any Ostrich wears, + I still should run." The Cricket asked, "What for? + Such ears are only natural in Hares." + "They'll pass for horns," his frightened friend replied; + "For Unicorn's appendages, I'm sure. + And folks, if I deny it, will decide + On sending me to Bedlam, as a cure." + + + + + FABLE XCI. + + + THE FOX WITH HIS TAIL CUT OFF. + + + A sly old Fox, a foe of Geese and Rabbits, + Was taken captive in a trap one day + (Just recompense of predatory habits), + And lost his tail before he got away. + He felt ashamed at such a mutilation; + But, cunning as before, proposed a way + To gain companions in his degradation; + And spoke as follows, on a council-day:-- + "Dear brother Foxes, what can be the beauty + Or use of things so cumbrous and absurd? + They only sweep the mud up. It's your duty + To cut them off--it is, upon my word!" + "Not bad advice: there <i>may</i> be wisdom in it," + Remarked a sage, "but will you, by-the-by, + Oblige us all by turning round a minute, + Before we give a positive reply?" + You never heard such hurricanes of laughter + As hailed the cropped appearance of the rogue. + Of course, among the Foxes, ever after, + Long tails continued very much in vogue. + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE XCII. + + + THE SATYR AND THE PASSER-BY. + + + A savage Satyr and his brood + Once took their lodgings and their food + Within a cavern deep and drear, + Which only very few came near. + + The Satyr, with his sons and wife, + Led quite an unpretending life: + Good appetite supplies the place + Of luxuries in such a case. + + A Traveller, who passed that way, + Entered the cave one rainy day; + The Satyr proved a friend in need. + By asking him to stop and feed. + + The other, as 'twas pouring still, + Of course, accepted with a will: + And warmed his fingers with his breath, + For he was frozen half to death: + + Upon the soup then breathed a bit + (The surest way of cooling it); + Meanwhile, his host in wonder sat, + And asked, "Pray, what's the good of that?" + + "Breath cools my soup," his guest replied, + "And makes my fingers warm beside." + The Satyr answered, with a sneer, + "Then, we can do without you here. + + "Beneath my roof you shall not sleep; + I scorn such company to keep. + All people in contempt I hold, + Who first blow hot, and then blow cold!" + + + + [Illustration: THE DOCTORS.] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE XCIII. + + + THE DOCTORS. + + + One morning Doctor Much-the-Worse went out + To see a patient, who was also tended + By Doctor Much-the-Better. "Past a doubt," + The former said, "this case is nearly ended. + There's not a chance."--The latter trusted still + In physic's aid: but while the twin concocters + Disputed hard on plaister, draught, and pill, + The patient died from this attack of doctors. + "Look there," said one, "I told you how 'twould be!" + The other said, "No doubt you're vastly clever; + But if our friend had only followed <i>me</i>, + I know he would have been as well as ever." + + + [Illustration] + + + [Illustration] + + + + + FABLE XCIV. + + + THE LABOURING MAN AND HIS CHILDREN. + + + Work, work, with all your might and main, + For labour brings the truest gain. + + A wealthy Labourer lay near to death; + And, summoning his children round the bed, + He thus addressed them, with his latest breath: + "Part not with my estate when I am dead. + My parents left me what I leave to <i>you.</i> + About the place a treasure lies concealed, + No matter where,--search every corner through, + Nor leave a spot unturned in any field. + Go, seek it from the morning till the night." + Their father dead, the loving sons fulfilled + The dying wish, that made their labour light: + From end to end the fields were duly tilled. + The harvest was enormous, though they found + No golden treasures, howsoever small. + And yet the father's last advice was sound, + For Labour <i>is</i> a treasure, after all. + + + + + FABLE XCV. + + + THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS. + + + My little story will explain + An olden maxim, which expresses + How Avarice, in search of gain, + May lose the hoard that it possesses. + The fable tells us that a Hen + Laid golden eggs, each egg a treasure; + Its owner--stupidest of men-- + Was miserly beyond all measure. + He thought a mine of wealth to find + Within the Hen, and so he slew it: + He found a bird of common kind-- + And lost a pretty fortune through it. + + For money-worms, who now and then + Grow poor through trying to be wealthy, + I tell my fable of the Hen; + My tale is good, my moral healthy. + + + [Illustration: THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS.] + + + + + FABLE XCVI. + + + THE ASS THAT CARRIED THE RELICS. + + + An Ass, with relics loaded, thought the crowd + Knelt down to him, and straightway grew so proud; + He took to his own merit, without qualms, + Even the incense and loud chaunted psalms, + Some one, to undeceive him, wisely said-- + "A foolish vanity has turned your head: + They not to you, but to the idol pray; + Where glory's due, there they the honour pay." + + When foolish magistrates rule o'er a town, + It's not the man we bow to, but his gown. + + + + + FABLE XCVII. + + + THE SERPENT AND THE FILE. + + + A Serpent once and Watchmaker were neighbours + (Unpleasant neighbour for a working man); + The Snake came creeping in among his labours, + Seeking for food on the felonious plan; + But all the broth he found was but a File, + And that he gnawed in vain--the steel was tough. + The tool said, with a calm contemptuous smile, + "Poor and mistaken thing! that's <i>quantum suff.</i> + You lose your time, you shallow sneak, you do, + You'll never bite a farthing's worth off me, + Though you break all your teeth: I tell you true, + I fear alone Time's great voracity." + + This is for critics--all the baser herd. + Who, restless, gnaw at everything they find. + Bah! you waste time, you do, upon my word; + Don't think your teeth can pierce the thinnest rind: + To injure noble works you try, and try, but can't, + To you they're diamond, steel, and adamant. + + + + + FABLE XCVIII. + + + THE HARE THE PARTRIDGE. + + + One should not mock the wretched. Who can tell + He will be always happy? Fortune changes, + Wise Æsop, in his fables, taught this well. + My story is like his--which very strange is, + The Hare and Partridge shared the selfsame clover, + And lived in peace and great tranquillity, + Till one day, racing all the meadows over, + The huntsmen came, and forced the Hare to flee, + And seek his hiding-place. The dogs, put out, + Were all astray: yes, even Brifaut erred, + Until the scent betrayed. A lusty shout + Arouses Miraut, who then loud averred, + From philosophic reasoning, 'twas the Hare, + And ardently pushed forward the pursuit. + Rustaut, who never lied, saw clearly where + Had homeward turned again the frightened brute. + Poor wretch! it came to its old form to die. + The cruel Partridge, bitter taunting, said, + "You boasted of your fleetness; now, then, try + Your nimble feet." Soon was that scorn repaid: + While she still laughed, the recompense was near. + She thought her wings would save her from man's jaws. + Poor creature! there was worse than that to fear: + The swooping Goshawk came with cruel claws. + + + + + FABLE XCIX + + + THE STAG AND THE VINE. + + + A Stag behind a lofty Vine took shelter + (Such vines are met with in a southern clime); + Hunters and hounds pursued him helter-skelter, + And searched and searched, but only lost their time. + The huntsmen laid, as might have been expected, + Upon the shoulders of their dogs the blame, + The Stag, forgetting he had been protected, + Vastly ungrateful all at once became; + Upon the friendly Vine he made a dinner; + But hounds and hunters soon came back again. + + + [Illustration: THE STAG AND THE VINE.] + + + Discovered quickly--now the leaves were thinner-- + The Stag, of course, got set upon and slain. + "I merit this!" exclaimed the dying glutton; + "Ingratitude, like pride, must have a fall:" + Another gasp, and he was dead as mutton; + And no one present pitied him at all. + + How oft is hospitality rewarded + By deeds ungrateful as the one recorded! + + + + + FABLE C. + + + THE LION GOING TO WAR. + + + Lion planned a foray on a foe; + Held a war-council; sent his heralds out + To warn the Animals he'd strike a blow; + Soon all were ready to help slay and rout-- + Each in his special way. The Elephant, + To bear upon his back the baggage and supplies, + And right, as usual. Then the Bear, to plant + The flag upon the breach. The Fox's eyes + Brighten at thought of diplomatic guile. + The Monkey hopes to dupe with endless tricks. + "But send away the Asses," says, meanwhile, + Some courtier, in whose mind the fancy sticks; + "They're only stupid. Pack off, too, the Hares." + "No, not so," said the King; "I'll use them all: + Our troop's imperfect, if they have no shares. + The Ass shall be our startling trumpet call; + The Hare is useful for our courier, mind." + Prudent and wise the King who knows the way + For every subject fitting task to find. + Nothing is useless to the wise, they say. + + + + + FABLE CI. + + + THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN. + + + A donkey donned a Lion's hide, + And spread a panic, far and wide + (Although the Donkey, as a rule, + Is not a fighter, but a fool). + By chance, a little bit of ear + Stuck forth, and made the matter clear. + Then Hodge, not relishing the trick, + Paid off its author with a stick. + While those who saw the Lion's skin, + But little dreamed who lurked within, + Stood open-mouthed, and all aghast, + To see a Lion run so fast. + + This tale applies, unless I err, + To many folks who make a stir; + And owe three-fourths of their success + To servants, carriages, and dress. + + + + + FABLE CII. + + + THE EAGLE AND THE OWL. + + + The Eagle and the Owl had treaty made-- + Ceased quarrelling, and even had embraced. + One took his royal oath; and, undismayed, + The other's claw upon his heart was placed: + Neither would gulp a fledgling of the other. + "Do you know mine?" Minerva's wise bird said. + The Eagle gravely shook her stately head, + "So much the worse," the Owl replied. "A mother + Trembles for her sweet chicks--she does, indeed. + It's ten to one if I can rear them then. + + + [Illustration: THE EAGLE AND THE OWL.] + + + You are a king, and, therefore, take no heed + Of who or what. The gods and lords of men + Put all things on one level: let who will + Say what they like. Adieu, my children dear, + If you once meet them." "Nay, good ma'am, but still, + Describe them," said the Eagle; "have no fear: + Be sure I will not touch them, on my word." + The Owl replied, "My little ones are small, + Beautiful, shapely,--prettier, far, than all. + By my description you will know the dears; + Do not forget it: let no fate by you + Find way to us, and cause me ceaseless tears." + Well, one fine evening, the old Owl away, + The Eagle saw, upon a rocky shelf, + Or in a ruin, (who cares which I say?) + Some little ugly creatures. To himself + The Eagle reasoned, "These are not our friend's, + Moping and gruff, and such a screeching, too: + Let's eat 'em." Waste time never spends + The royal bird, to give the brute his due; + And when he eats, he eats, to tell the truth. + The Owl, returning, only found the feet + Of her dear offspring:--sad, but yet it's sooth. + She mourns the children, young, and dear, and sweet, + And prays the gods to smite the wicked thief, + That brought her all the woe and misery. + Then some one said, "Restrain thy unjust grief; + Reflect one moment on the casualty. + Thou art to blame, and also Nature's law, + Which makes us always think our own the best. + You sketched them to the Eagle as you saw: + They were not like your portrait;--am I just?" + + + + + + FABLE CIII. + + + + + THE SHEPHERD AND THE LION. + + + Fables are sometimes more than they appear: + A crude, bare moral wearies some, I fear. + The simplest animal to truth may lead; + The story and the precept make one heed: + They pass together better than apart: + To please, and yet instruct, that is the art. + To write for writing's sake seems poor to me; + And for this reason, more especially-- + Numbers of famous men, from time to time, + Have written fables in laconic rhyme, + Shunning all ornament and verbose length, + Wasting no word, unless to gain in strength. + Phædrus was so succinct, some men found fault; + Curt Æsop was far readier still to halt. + But, above all, a Greek[1] did most excel, + Who in four verses told what he would tell. + If he succeeded, let the experts say; + Let's match him now with Æsop, by the way. + A Shepherd and a Hunter they will bring: + I give the point and ending as they sing, + Embroidering here and there, as on I go;-- + Thus Æsop told the story, you must know. + + A Shepherd, finding in his flocks some gaps, + Thought he might catch the robber in his traps, + And round a cave drew close his netted toils, + Fearing the Wolves, and their unceasing spoils. + "Grant, king of gods, before I leave the place," + He cried, "grant me to see the brigand's face. + Let me but watch him rolling in the net. + That is the dearest pleasure I could get!" + Then from a score of calves he chose the beast, + The fattest, for the sacrificial feast. + That moment stepped a Lion from the cave; + The Shepherd, prostrate, all intent to save + His petty life, exclaimed, "How little we + Know what we ask! If I could only see + Safe in my snares, that caused me so much grief, + The helpless, panting, miserable thief, + Great Jove! a Calf I promised to thy fane: + An Ox I'd make it, were I free again." + + Thus wrote our leading author of his race; + Now for the imitator, in his place. + + + [1] Gabrias. + + + + + FABLE CIV. + + + THE LION AND THE HUNTER. + + + A Braggart, lover of the chase, + Losing a dog, of noble race, + Fearing 'twas in a Lion's maw, + Asked the first shepherd that he saw + If he would kindly show him where + The robber had his favourite lair; + That he might teach him, at first sight, + The difference between wrong and right. + The shepherd said, "Near yonder peak + You'll find the gentleman you seek. + A sheep a month, that is the fee + I pay for ease and liberty. + I wander where I like, you see." + And, while he spoke, the Lion ran + And put to flight the bragging man. + "O Jupiter!" he cried, "befriend, + And some safe refuge quickly send!" + + The proof of courage, understand, + Is shown when danger is at hand. + Some, when the danger comes, 'tis known, + Will very quickly change their tone. + + + + + FABLE CV. + + + PHŒBUS AND BOREAS. + + + Phœbus and Boreas saw a traveller, + 'Fended against bad weather prudently. + Autumn had just begun, and then, you see, + Caution is useful to the wayfarer. + It rains and shines, and rainbows bright displayed + Warned those who ventured out to take a cloak: + The Romans called these months, as if in joke, + The doubtful. For this season well arrayed, + Our fellow, ready for the pelting rain, + Wore a cloak doubled, and of sturdy stuff. + "He thinks," the Wind said, "he is armed enough + To 'scape all hazards; but it's quite in vain, + For he has not foreseen that I can blow, + So that no button in the world avails: + I send cloaks flying as I do ships' sails. + It will amuse us just to let him know; + Now, you shall see." "Agreed," then Phœbus said; + "Then let us bet, without more talking, come, + Which of us first shall send him cloakless home: + You can begin, and I will hide my head." + 'Twas soon arranged, and Boreas filled his throat + With vapour, till his cheeks balloons became. + A demon's holiday of lightning-flame + And storm came whistling, wrecking many a boat, + Shattering many a roof--and all for what? + About a paltry cloak. He's much ado + To save him from a precipice or two. + The Wind but wasted time--one's pleased at that-- + The more it raged, but firmer still he drew + Around his breast the cloak: the cape just shook, + And here and there a shred the tempest took. + At last, the time was up, no more it blew, + Then the hot Sun dispersed the cloudy haze, + And pierced the weary horseman through and through. + Beneath his heavy mantle sprung hot dew-- + No longer could he bear those fervent rays-- + He threw his cloak aside (a man of sense); + Not half his power had Phœbus yet employed. + Mildness had won--the Sun was overjoyed: + Softness gains more than any violence. + + + + + FABLE CVI. + + + THE BEAR AND THE TWO FRIENDS. + + + Two Friends, in want, resolved to sell + A Bear-skin, though the Bear was well, + And still alive. The Furrier paid + Them willingly; the bargain's made. + It was the King of Bears, they said: + They'd kill him in an hour or two, + And what more could they hope to do? + "The merchant has not such a skin, + A guarantee through thick and thin, + To fence from e'en the keenest cold + With warm, soft, pliant fold on fold: + Better to make two cloaks than one." + The bargain's made, the business done, + The Bear, in two days, was to die + That they agreed on, presently. + They found the Bear, who, at full trot, + Came down upon them, raging hot. + The men were thunder-struck; soon done + With bargain-making, how they run! + Life against money: they are mute. + One climbs a tree, to shun the brute; + The other, cold as marble, lies + Upon his stomach--shuts his eyes; + For he has heard that Bears, instead + Of eating fear to touch the dead. + The trap deceives the foolish Bear: + He sees the body lying there, + Suspects a trick, turns, smells, and sniffs, + With many nuzzling cautious whiffs. + "He's dead," said he, "and rather high;" + Then seeks the forest that's hard by. + The merchant, from the tree descending + Quickly, to his companion's lending + The aid he needs. "A wondrous sight, + To think you've only had a fright. + But where's his skin?--and did he say + Aught in your ear, as there you lay? + For he came, as I plainly saw, + And turned you over with his paw." + "He said, 'Another time, at least, + Before you sell, first kill the beast." + + + + + FABLE CVII. + + + JUPITER AND THE FARMER. + + + Jupiter had a farm to give away; + Mercury told the world the chosen day. + The people came to offer, rough they were, + And listened grimly. One said it was bare + And stubborn land; another half agreed. + While they thus haggled, churlishly indeed, + One bolder than the rest--but wiser?--no-- + Consents to take it, if Jove only grant + The climate that he wishes; he will plant, + And sow, and reap, if but the heat and cold + May come and go, like slaves, as they are told. + The seasons wait his nod: the wet and dry + Obey his bidding from a servile sky. + Jove grants his wish--our foolish fellow sways + His sceptre bravely--rains and blows for days; + Makes his own climate just as he may please: + His neighbours, no more than Antipodes, + Share his good weather. Still as well they fare; + Their barns are teeming full; but his art bare. + The next year quite a change; another way + He sets the seasons, watching day by day: + Still, there's some flaw--his crops are thin and poor, + While loaded waggons crowd his neighbour's door. + What can he do?--he falls before Jove's throne, + Confesses all his folly: he alone + Has been to blame. Jove, with much gentleness, + Like a mild master, pities his distress. + It is agreed that Providence is kind, + And knows far better than a human mind + What's good for us, and calmly bids us do it: + We seldom see our way till we are through it. + + + + + FABLE CVIII. + + + THE STAG VIEWING HIMSELF IN THE STREAM. + + + Beside a fountain in the wood + A royal Stag admiring stood: + His antlers pleased him well. + But one thing vexed him to the heart: + His slender legs ill matched the part + On which he loved to dwell. + + "Nature has shaped them ill," said he, + Watching their shadows peevishly: + "Here is a disproportion! + My horns rise branching, tall, and proud; + My legs disgrace them, 'tis allowed, + And are but an abortion." + + + [Illustration: THE STAG VIEWING HIMSELF IN THE STREAM.] + + + Just then a deer-hound frightened him, + And lent a wing to every limb. + O'er bush and brake--he's off! + At those adornments on his brow + The foolish creature praised just now + He soon begins to scoff. + + Upon his legs his life depends: + They are his best and only friends. + He unsays every word, + And curses Heaven, that has sent + A dangerous gift. We all repent + Speeches that are absurd. + + We prize too much the beautiful, + And useful things spurn (as a rule); + Yet fast will beauty fleet. + The Stag admired the antlers high, + That brought him into jeopardy, + And blamed his kindly feet. + + + + + + FABLE CIX. + + + THE COCKEREL, THE CAT, AND THE LITTLE RAT. + + + A Rat, so very young that it had seen + Nothing at all, was at his setting out + Almost snapped up; and what his fears had been + He told his mother. Thus it came about-- + "I crossed the mountains bordering our land, + Bold as a Rat that has his way to make; + When two great animals, you understand, + Before my eyes, their way towards me take. + The one was gentle, tender, and so mild; + The other restless, wild, and turbulent; + A screeching voice, some flesh upon its head, + A sort of arm, raised as for punishment. + His tail a plume, a fiery plume displayed + (It was a capon that the creature drew + Like a wild beast new come from Africa); + And with his arms he beat his sides, it's true, + With such a frightful noise, that in dismay, + E'en I, who pride myself on courage, ran + And fled for fear, cursing the evil creature; + As, but for him, I should have found a plan + To make acquaintance with that gentle nature-- + So soft and sweet, and with a skin like ours; + Long tail, and spotted, with a face so meek; + And yet a glittering eye, of such strange powers: + A sympathiser, sure as I can speak, + With us the Rats, for he has just such ears. + I was about to make a little speech, + When, all at once, as if to rouse my fears, + The other creature gave a dreadful screech, + And I took flight." "My child," exclaimed the Rat, + "That gentle hypocrite you liked so well, + Was our malignant enemy--the Cat. + The other, on whose form so foul you fell, + Is simply harmless, and will be our meal, + Perhaps, some day; while, as for that meek beast, + On us he dearly loves to leap and steal, + And crunch and munch us for his cruel feast. + Take care, my child, in any case, + Judge no one by their look or face." + + + + + FABLE CX. + + + THE FOX, THE MONKEY, AND THE OTHER ANIMALS. + + + The Animals (the Lion dead) + Resolved to choose a King instead; + The crown was taken from its case-- + A dragon guarded well the place. + They tried the crown, but, when they'd done, + It would not fit a single one. + Some heads too large, and some too small; + Many had horns,--defects in all. + The Monkey, laughing, tried it, too, + And got his mocking visage through, + With many wild, fantastic faces; + And twisting gambols and grimaces. + A hoop, at last, around his waist + He wore it, and they cried, "Well placed!" + He was elected. Each one paid + Their homage to the King they'd made. + The Fox alone laments the choice, + But chokes it down with flattering voice. + Paving his little compliments, + To hide his secret sentiments. + "Sire," to the King, he said, "I've pleasure + To tell you I have found a treasure; + A secret, but to me alone-- + All treasures fall unto the throne." + The young King, eager at finance, + Ran fast himself, to catch the chance. + It was a trap, and he was caught. + The Fox said, when his aid he sought, + "You think to govern us and rule; + You cannot save yourself, you fool!" + They turned him out, and, with some wit, + Agreed that few a crown will fit. + + + + + FABLE CXI. + + + THE MULE THAT BOASTED OF HIS FAMILY. + + + + An Episcopal Mule, of its family proud, + Would <i>not</i> keep his ancestry under a cloud, + But chattered, and bragged of his mother the mare: + Of her having done this, and her having been there; + And vowed that so famous a creature ignored, + Was a shame and disgrace to historian's record. + He frankly disdained on a doctor to wait, + And patiently stand at a poor patient's gate. + At last, growing old, in the mill he's confined, + Then his father, the donkey, came into his mind. + A misfortune is useful, if only to bring + A fool to his senses--a very good thing-- + It's sent for a purpose, and always will be + Useful to some one or something, you see. + + + + + FABLE CXII. + + + THE OLD MAN AND THE ASS. + + + An Old Man, riding on a Donkey, saw + A meadow thick with flowers, and full of grass. + He instantly unbridled the poor Ass, + And let him roam for twenty minutes' law. + It scratch'd, and scratch'd, and munch'd, and chew'd, and bray'd + Nipping the best, and kicking, for sheer fun: + The meal refreshing was betimes begun. + Just then the enemy came, all arrayed: + "Fly," said the Old Man. "Wherefore?" said the beast; + "Am I to carry double burden--double load? + Am I to tramp once more upon the road?" + "No," said the Old Man; "I'll stop here, at least." + "To whom I may belong is no great matter. + Go, save yourself from an unlucky blow; + My master is my enemy, I know: + I tell you in the best French I can patter." + + + [Illustration: THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE SERPENT.] + + + + + FABLE CXIII. + + + THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE SERPENT. + + + Æsop describes, as he's well able, + A Peasant, wise and charitable, + Who, walking on a winter day + Around his farm, found by the way + A snake extended on the snow, + Frozen and numb--half dead, you know. + He lifts the beast, with friendly care, + And takes him home to warmer air-- + Not thinking what reward would be + Of such an unwise charity. + Beside the hearth he stretches him, + Warms and revives each frozen limb. + The creature scarcely feels the glow, + Before its rage begins to flow: + First gently raised its head, and rolled + Its swelling body, fold on fold; + Then tried to leap, and spring, and bite + Its benefactor;--was that right? + "Ungrateful!" cried the man; "then I + Will give you now your due--you die!" + With righteous anger came the blow + From the good axe. It struck, and, lo! + Two strokes--three snakes--its body, tail, + And head; and each, without avail, + Trying to re-unite in vain, + They only wriggle in long pain. + + It's good to lavish charity; + But then on whom? Well, that's just it. + As for ungrateful men, they die + In misery, and as 'tis fit. + + + + + FABLE CXIV. + + + THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE. + + + It's not enough that you run fleet; + Start early,--that's the way to beat. + + The Tortoise said unto the Hare, + "I'll bet you, free, and frank, and fair, + You do not reach a certain place + So soon as I, though quick your pace." + "So soon?" the nimble creature cries; + "Take physic for your brains;--be wise"-- + "Fool or no fool, I make the bet." + The bet is made, the stakes are set; + But who the sporting judges were + Is neither your nor my affair. + Our Hare had but a bound to make, + From him the swiftest hounds to shake. + They run themselves almost to death, + Yet he is scarcely out of breath; + Plenty of time for him to browse, + To sleep, and then again to rouse; + Or boldly turn the while he's going, + And mark which way the wind is blowing. + Careless, he lets the Tortoise pace, + Grave as a senator. To race + With such a thing is but disgrace. + She, in the meanwhile, strives and strains, + And takes most meritorious pains; + Slow, yet unceasing. Still the Hare + Holds it a very mean affair + To start too soon; but when, at last, + The winning-post is almost past + By his dull rival, then, 'tis true, + He quicker than the arrow flew. + Alas! his efforts failed to win, + The Tortoise came the first one in. + "Well," she said then, "now, was I right? + What use was all your swiftness: light + I held your speed, and won the prize; + Where would you be, can you surmise, + If with my house upon your shoulders, + You tried to startle all beholders?" + + + + + FABLE CXV. + + + THE SICK LION AND THE FOX. + + + The King of Beasts was sick to death, + And, almost with his latest breath, + Made known to all his vassals he + Needed their deepest sympathy. + As in his cave he lay, he stated, + For friendly visitors he waited. + With every guarantee insured, + The deputies went, quite secured; + Upon the Lion's passport writ, + In fair round hand, each word of it-- + A promise good, in eyes of law, + + + [Illustration: THE SICK LION AND THE FOX.] + + + Whether against tooth or claw. + The Prince's will to execute + Goes every class of beast and brute. + The Foxes only kept at home; + One gave the reason he'd not come: + "The footprints of the courtiers, see, + Are all one way, that's plain to me: + But none point homeward. It is just + If I feel somewhat of distrust. + Our sick King's courtiers may dispense + With passports, for they're full of sense. + Granted, no doubt; and yet I crave + They'll show me how to leave the cave.-- + I clearly see they enter. Well! + But how they leave it who can tell?" + + + + + FABLE CXVI. + + + THE ASS AND HIS MASTERS. + + + A Gardener's Donkey once complained to Fate + Of having to rise earlier than the sun. + "The cocks," he said, "are certainly not late; + But I have got to rise ere they've begun. + And all for what?--to carry herbs to sell: + A pretty cause to break one's morning sleep!" + Fate, touched by this appeal, determined well + To give the beast to other hands to keep: + The Gardener to a Tanner yields him next. + The weight of hides, and their distressing fume, + Soon shock our friend; he is far worse perplexed: + His mind again begins to lower and gloom. + "I much regret," he said, "my first good man, + For when he turned his head I always got + A bite of cabbage;--that was just my plan: + It cost me not a single sous, or jot; + But here no, no rewards but kick and cuff."-- + His fortune shifts; a Charcoal-dealer's stall + Receives him. Still complaints, and <i>quantum suff.</i> + "What! not content yet," Fate cries, "after all? + This Ass is worse than half a hundred kings. + Does he, forsooth, think he's the only one + That's not content? Have I no other things + To fill my mind but this poor simpleton?" + And Fate was right. No man is satisfied: + Our fortune never fits our wayward minds; + The present seems the worst we've ever tried; + We weary Heaven with outcries of all kinds. + And yet, if Jupiter gave each his will, + We should torment his ear with wishes still. + + + + + FABLE CXVII. + + + THE SUN AND THE FROGS. + + + A Monarch's wedding gave his people up, + The whole day long, to dances and the cup; + But Æsop found their doings in bad taste, + And thought their joy decidedly misplaced. + + "The Sun," said he, "once thought about a wife, + And fancied he could shine in married life; + But instantly there came petitions loud + From all the Frogs on earth--a noisy crowd. + 'Suppose,' they said, 'the Queen should be prolific, + Our situation will become terrific. + A single sun is quite enough to bear; + The little ones will drive us to despair. + Parched as we are, in sultry summer weather, + The extra heat will roast us altogether. + Let us entreat your mercy on our race; + The river Styx is not a pleasant place!'" + + Considering that Frogs are very small, + I think the argument not bad at all. + + + + + FABLE CXVIII. + + + THE CARTER STUCK IN THE MUD. + + + A Phaeton, who drove a load of hay, + Found himself in the mud stuck hard and fast: + Poor man! from all assistance far away. + (In Lower Brittany he had been cast, + Near Quimper-Corentin, and all may know + 'Tis there that Destiny sends folks she hates. + God keep us from such journey here below!) + But to return. The Carter, in the mire, + Rages and swears, and foams and execrates-- + His eyes wild rolling, and his face on fire; + Curses the holes, the horses, every stone, + + + [Illustration: THE CARTER STUCK IN THE MUD.] + + + The cart, and then himself. The god he prays, + Whose mighty labours through the world are known: + "O Hercules! send present aid," he says; + "If thy broad back once bore this mighty sphere, + Thy arm can drag me out." His prayer he ends. + Then came a voice from out a cloud quite near: + "To those who strive themselves he succour lends. + Work, and find out where the obstruction lies; + Remove this bird-lime mud you curse so hot; + Clear axle-tree and wheel--be quick and wise; + Take up the pick, and break that flint--why not? + Fill up that yawning rut. Now, is it done?" + "Yes," said the man; and then the voice replied, + "Now I can help you; take your whip, my son." + "I've got it. Hallo! here; what's this?" he cried; + "My cart goes nicely--praise to Hercules." + And then the voices--"You see how readily + Your horses got clear out of jeopardy." + To those who help themselves the gods send help and ease. + + + + + FABLE CXIX. + + + THE DOG AND THE SHADOW. + + + We all deceive ourselves, and so we fall; + We all run after shadows, in our way: + So many madmen, one can't count them all; + Send them to Æsop's Dog,--I beg and pray. + The Dog, who saw the shadow of the meat + He carried, dark upon the liquid tide, + Dropping his prey, snapped at the counterfeit: + The river rose, and washed him from the side. + True, with much danger, he regained the shore, + But neither meat nor shadow saw he more. + + + + + FABLE CXX. + + + THE BIRD-CATCHER, THE HAWK, AND THE SKYLARK. + + + Injustice, and false people's wilful crimes, + Serve others as excuses, oftentimes, + For fresh injustice. Nature's law's planned so; + If you wish to be spared, then give no blow. + + A Countryman, with glittering looking-glass, + Was catching birds. The brilliant phantom lured + A Lark; when, suddenly, it came to pass + A Sparrow Hawk, of its sweet prey assured, + Dropped from the cloud, and struck swift to the ground + The gentlest bird that sings; though near the tomb, + She had escaped the trap; yet now she found + Beneath that cruel beak at last her doom. + Whilst stripping her, eager and all intent, + The Hawk itself beneath the net was caught. + "Fowler," he cried, "no harm I ever meant: + I never did thee ill, nor ever sought + To do." The man replied, "This helpless thing + Had done no more to thee;--no murmuring!" + + + + + FABLE CXXI. + + + THE HORSE AND THE ASS. + + + In this world every one must help his brother. + If your poor neighbour dies, his weary load + On you, perhaps, may fall, and on no other. + + An Ass and Horse were travelling on the road: + The last had but the harness on his back. + The first, borne down unto the very ground, + Besought the Horse to help him, or, alack! + He'd never reach the town. In duty bound, + Apologies he made for this request: + "To you," he said, "the load will be mere sport." + The Horse refused, and snorted at the jest. + Just as he sneered, the Donkey died. In short, + He soon perceived he had not acted right, + And had his friend ill treated; for that night + They made him drag the cart through thick and thin, + And in the cart his injured comrade's skin. + + + + + FABLE CXXII. + + + THE CHARLATAN. + + + Of Charlatans the world has never lack: + This science of professors has no want. + Only the other day one made his vaunt + He could cheat Acheron; in white and black + Another boasted o'er the town that, lo! + He was another Cicero. + + One of these fellows claimed a mastery + Of eloquence; swore he could make an ass, + "A peasant, rustic, booby, d'ye see?-- + Yes, gentlemen, a dolt of basest class-- + Eloquent. Bring me an ass," he cried, + "The veriest ass, and I will teach him so, + He shall the cassock wear with proper pride." + The Prince resolved the truth of this to know. + "I have," he to the rhetorician one day said, + "A fine ass from Arcadia in my stable; + Make him an orator, if you are able." + "Sire, you do what you will." The man they made + Accept a sum, for twenty years to teach + The ass the proper use of speech; + And if he failed, he in the market-place, + With halter round his neck, was to be hung; + Upon his back his rhetoric books all strung, + And asses' ears above his frightened face. + One of the courtiers said that he would go + And see him at the gibbet; he'd such grace + And presence, he'd become the hangman's show; + There, above all, his art would come in well: + A long-extended speech--with pathos, too-- + Would fit the great occasion, so it fell + In the one form of those grand Ciceros + Vulgarly known as thieves. "Yes, that is true," + The other said; "but ere I try, + The king, the ass, and you will die." + + + + + FABLE CXXIII. + + + THE YOUNG WIDOW. + + + A Husband isn't lost without a sigh; + We give a groan, then are consoled again; + Swift on Time's wings we see our sorrow fly; + Fleet Time brings sunshine's pleasure after rain. + The widow of a year, the widow of a day, + Are very different, I say: + One finds it almost hard to trust one's eyes, + Or the same face to recognise. + One flies the world, the other plans her wiles; + In true or untrue sighs the one pours forth her heart, + + + [Illustration: THE YOUNG WIDOW.] + + + Yet the same note they sing, or tears or smiles-- + "Quite inconsolable," they say; but, for my part, + I don't heed that. This fable shows the truth: + Yet why say fiction?--it is sooth. + + The husband of a beauty, young and gay, + Unto another world was call'd away. + "My soul, wait for me!" was the Widow's moan. + The husband waited not, but went alone. + The Widow had a father--prudent man! + He let her tears flow; 'twas the wisest plan. + Then to console, "My child," he said, "this way + Of weeping will soon wash your charms away. + There still live men: think no more of the dead; + I do not say at once I would be wed; + But after a short time you'll see, I know, + A husband young and handsome that I'll show, + By no means like the sorry one you mourn." + "A cloister is my husband--ah! forlorn." + The father let these foolish groans go by; + A month pass'd--every moment tear or sigh. + Another month, and ribbons load her table; + She changed her dress, and cast away her sable. + The flock of Cupids to the dovecot back + Came flying, now unscared by scarecrow black. + Smiles, sports, and dances follow in their train, + She bathes in youth's bright fountain once again. + No more the father fears the dear deceased; + But, as his silence not one whit decreased, + The angry widow cries impatiently, + "Where's the young husband that you promised me?" + + + + + FABLE CXXIV. + + + DISCORD. + + + Discord, who had the gods entangled + About an apple--how they wrangled!-- + Was driven from the skies at last, + And to that animal came fast + That they call Man; her brother, too, + "Whether or no," who long'd to view + Our ball of earth. Her father came-- + Old "Thine and Mine"--the very same. + She did much honour to our sphere + By longing so much to be here; + She cared not for the other race + Who watch us from aerial space-- + We were gross folk, not tamed the least, + Who married without law or priest-- + Discord no business had at all: + The proper places where to call + Scandal has orders to find out; + She, a right busy, active scout, + Falls quick to quarrel and debates, + And always Peace anticipates: + Blows up a spark into a blaze, + Not to burn out for many days. + Scandal, at length, complain'd she found + No refuge certain above ground, + And often lost her precious time: + She must have shelter in this clime-- + A point from whence she could send forth + Discord, west, east, or south, or north. + There were no nunneries then, you see: + That made it difficult, may be. + The inn of Wedlock was assign'd + At last, and suited Scandal's mind. + + + + + FABLE CXXV. + + + THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE. + + + A Malady that Heaven sent + On earth, for our sin's punishment-- + The Plague (if I must call it right), + Fit to fill Hades in a night-- + Upon the animals made war; + Not all die, but all stricken are. + They scarcely care to seek for food, + For they are dying, and their brood. + The Wolves and Foxes crouching keep, + Nor care to watch for timorous Sheep. + Even the very Turtle-doves + Forget their little harmless loves. + The Lion, calling counsel, spoke-- + "Dear friends, upon our luckless crown + Heaven misfortune has sent down, + For some great sin. Let, then, the worst + Of all our race be taken first, + And sacrificed to Heaven's ire; + So healing Mercury, through the fire, + May come and free us from this curse, + That's daily growing worse and worse. + History tells us, in such cases + For patriotism there a place is. + No self-deception;--plain and flat + Search each his conscience, mind you that. + I've eaten several sheep, I own. + What harm had they done me?--why, none. + Sometimes--to be quite fair and true-- + I've eaten up the shepherd too. + I will devote myself; but, first, + Let's hear if any has done worst. + Each must accuse himself, as I + Have done; for justice would let die + The guiltiest one." The Fox replied-- + "You are too good to thus decide. + + + [Illustration: THE ANIMAL SICK OF THE PLAGUE.] + + + Your Majesty's kind scruples show + Too much of delicacy. No + What! eating sheep--the paltry--base, + Is that a sin? You did the race, + In munching them, an honour--yes, + I'm free, your highness, to confess. + And as for shepherds, they earn all + The evils that upon them fall: + Being of those who claim a sway + (Fantastic claim!) o'er us, they say." + Thus spoke the Fox the flatterer's text. + The Tiger and the Bear came next, + With claims that no one thought perplexed. + In fact, more quarrelsome they were, + The fewer grew the cavillers there. + Even the humblest proved a saint: + None made a slanderous complaint. + The Ass came in his turn, and said, + "For one thing I myself upbraid. + Once, in a rank green abbey field, + Sharp hunger made me basely yield. + The opportunity was there; + The grass was rich; the day was fair. + Some demon tempted me: I fell, + And cleared my bare tongue's length, pell-mell." + Scarce had he spoken ere they rose + In arms, nor waited for the close. + A Wolf, half lawyer, made a speech, + And proved this creature wrong'd them each + And all, and they must sacrifice + This scurvy wretch, who to his eyes + Was steep'd in every wickedness. + Doom'd to the rope, without redress, + "Hang him at once! What! go and eat + An Abbot's grass, however sweet! + Abominable crime!" they cry; + "Death only clears the infamy." + + If you are powerful, wrong or right, + The court will change your black to white. + + + + + FABLE CXXVI. + + + THE RAT WHO RETIRED FROM THE WORLD. + + + There is a legend of the Levantine, + That once a certain Rat, weary of strife, + Retired into a Dutch cheese, calm, serene, + Far from the bustle and the cares of life. + In solitude extreme, dim stretching far and wide, + The hermit dwelt in all tranquillity, + And worked so well with feet and teeth inside, + Shelter and food were his in certainty. + What need of more? Soon he grew fat with pride; + God showers his blessings upon those who pay + Their vows to him in faith. There came, one day, + A pious deputy, from Ratdom sent, + To beg some trilling alms, because their town-- + Ratopolis--was leaguered with intent + Most deadly; they, without a crown, + Had been obliged to fly,--so indigent + Was the assailed republic. Little ask + The scared ambassadors--the succour sure, + In a few days: the loan was no hard task. + "My friend," the hermit cried. "I can endure + No more the things of this world. What have I, + A poor recluse, to give you, but a prayer? + I yield you patiently unto His care." + And then he shut the door, quite tranquilly. + + Who do I mean, then, by this selfish Rat? + A monk?--no, sir; a dervish is more fat. + A monk, where'er in this world he may be, + Is always full, you know, of charity. + + + + + FABLE CXXVII. + + + THE HERON. + + + One day, on his stilt legs, walked, here and there, + A Heron, with long neck and searching beak; + Along a river side he came to seek. + The water was transparent, the day fair, + Gossip, the Carp, was gambolling in the stream: + The Pike, her neighbour, was in spirits, too. + The Heron had no trouble, it would seem, + But to approach the bank, and snap the two; + But he resolved for better appetite + To calmly wait:--he had his stated hours: + He lived by rule. At last, there came in sight + Some Tench, that exercised their finny powers. + They pleased him not, and so he waited still, + Scornful, like rat of whom good Horace wrote. + "What! eat a tench?--I, who can take my fill, + Munch such poor trash?"--he'll sing another note. + The tench refused, a gudgeon next came by: + "A pretty dish for such as me, forsooth! + The gods forgive me if I eat such fry: + I'll never open beak for that:"--and yet, in truth, + He opened for far less. The fish no more + Returned. Then Hunger came;--thus ends my tale. + He who'd rejected dishes half a score, + Was forced, at last, to snap a paltry snail. + + Do not be too exacting. The cleverer people are + The sooner pleased, by far. + We all may lose by trying for too much;-- + I have known such. + Hold nothing in contempt, and the less so, + If you are needing help, for know + In that trap many fall, not only birds, + Like Herons, to whom now I gave some words. + Listen, my fellow-men,--another fable: + Some lessons can be found amid your lords. + + + + + FABLE CXXVIII. + + + THE MAN BADLY MARRIED. + + + Oh, that the good and beautiful were wedded! + From early morrow I will seek the pair; + But since they are divorced, the addle-headed + Alone would track them long through sea or air. + Few beauteous bodies shelter beauteous souls; + So don't be angry if I cease pursuit. + Marriages many I have seen. The goals + To which men strive my fancies seldom suit. + + The full four-fourths of men rush reckless on, + And brave the deadliest risks;--four-fourths repent. + I'll produce one who, being woe-begone, + Found no resource but sending where he'd sent + Before his hopeless wife, jealous and miserly, + Peevish and fretful;--nothing was done right. + They went to bed too soon--rose tardily; + The white was black, the black was staring white; + The servants groaned, the master swore outright. + "Monsieur is always busy;--he, of course, + Will think of nothing--squanders everything." + So much of this, in fact. Monsieur, <i>par force</i>, + Weary of all this squabble, and the sting, + Sends her back to the country and her friends,-- + Phillis, who drives the turkeys, and the men + Who watch the pigs, and very soon she mends. + Grown calmer, he writes for her kindly then:-- + "Well, how did time pass? was it pleasant there? + How did you like the country innocence?" + "It's bearable," she said; "the only care + That vexed me was to see the vile pretence + Of industry. Why, those base, lazy patches + Let the herds starve;--not one of them has sense + To do their proper work, except by snatches." + "Come, madam," cried the husband in a rage, + "If you're so peevish that folk out all day + Weary of you, and long to see the stage + That bears you from them anywhere away, + What must the servants feel who, every hour, + Are chased about by your outrageous tongue! + And what the husband, who is in your power + By night and day? Adieu! May I be hung + If I again recall you from the farm; + Or if I do, may I atone the sin + By having Pluto's gloomy realms within + Two wives like you, a shrew for either arm." + + + + + FABLE CXXIX. + + + THE MAIDEN. + + + A certain Maiden, somewhat proud, + A husband sought from out the crowd + Of suitors. Handsome he's to be, and bold, + Agreeable, young, and neither cold + Nor jealous. Wealth she wished, and birth, + Talent; in fact, all things on earth. + Who could expect to have them all? + Fortune was kind and helped to call + Lovers of rank and eminence. + She thought them mean and wanting sense-- + "What! I accept such people? Pish! + + + [Illustration: THE MAIDEN.] + + + You're doting, if that is your wish. + Look at the paltry creatures. See, + Mark how they grin, and ogle me." + One's vulgar; he who dares propose + Has, goodness gracious! such a nose; + This is too short, and that too tall, + Something distinctly wrong in all. + Affected girls are hard to please, + Though lovers sue them on their knees. + After the best were spurned, there came + The humbler people of less name. + She mocked them, too, unmercifully-- + "To greet such men is good of me; + Perhaps they think my chance is poor, + Even to venture near my door; + But, Heaven be thanked, I pass my life, + Although alone, quite free from strife." + The Belle was with herself content; + But age came soon, the lovers went. + A year or two passed restlessly; + Then comes chagrin, and by-and-by + She feels that every hurrying day + Chases first smiles, then love away. + Soon wrinkles make her almost faint, + And try a thousand sorts of paint; + But all in vain, when past one's prime, + To shun that mighty robber, Time: + A ruined house you can replace, + But not the ruins of a face. + Her pride abates--her mirror cries, + "A husband get if you are wise;" + Her heart, too, echoes what is said-- + E'en prudes are willing to be wed. + A curious choice, at last, she made, + And not a grand one, I'm afraid; + Her choice was what most men called foolish: + A clumsy boor, ill-shaped and mulish. + + + + + FABLE CXXX. + + + THE WISHES. + + + In the Mogul's dominions far away, + Certain small spirits there are often found, + Who sweep the house and dig the garden ground, + And guard your equipage by night and day: + If you but touch their work, you spoil the whole. + One of these spirits near the Ganges, then, + Toiled at the garden of a citizen; + And with a silent skill worked heart and soul. + He loved his master and his mistress, too, + The garden most. The Zephyrs (Heaven knows), + Friends of the genii, as the story goes, + Perhaps assisted him, whate'er he'd do. + He toiled unceasingly to show his zeal, + Loaded his host with gifts, a brimming store, + Boundless of pleasure; indeed, wished no more + To leave those friends for whom he thus could feel. + Fickle such spirits are, yet true was he; + His brother genii, joining in a plot, + The chief of their republic quickly got, + From some caprice or jealous policy, + To order him to go to Norway straight. + To guard a hut covered with changeless snows, + From India straight to Lapland. Ere he goes + The Spirit with his master holds debate: + "They make me leave you, yet I know not why; + For some forgotten fault, and I obey; + But be the time a month, or but a day, + I'll grant you now Three Wishes ere I fly-- + Three, and no more. It is not hard, I know, + For man to wish--how easy, we all see." + They wished Abundance, and then presently + Abundance came; fast from her full hands flow + The golden streams, barns brim with piles of wheat; + The cellars with rich casks are almost burst: + How to arrange the stores--that is the worst; + What ceaseless care! what toil of hands and feet! + Thieves plot against them, nobles will still borrow; + The Prince heaps taxes: hapless is their fate; + Their sorrow, too much fortune, luck too great. + They say, "Take from us wealth, let's wake to-morrow + Poor as before. Happy the indigent; + Poverty's better than such wealth," their cry: + "Treasures, begone, take wings at once, and fly; + Of that so foolish wish we both repent. + Come, Moderation, mother of Repose, + Friend of good sense, O Moderation, come!" + She comes once more unto her former home; + The door behind her joyfully they close. + Two wishes gone, and not so luckily, + Their lot was that of those who dream away + Life in vain sighings, stealing, day by day, + Time better spent in honest industry. + The Spirit smiled at them; ere taking flight, + While yet his wings were spread, the one wish more + They asked; and this time Wisdom--that's a store + That never can embarrass, day or night. + + + + + FABLE CXXXI. + + + THE VULTURES AND THE PIGEONS. + + + Mars one day set the sky on fire: + A quarrel roused the wild birds' ire-- + Not those sweet subjects of the spring, + Who in the branches play and sing; + Not those whom Venus to her car + Harnesses; but the Vulture race, + With crooked beak and villain face. + 'Twas for a dog deceased--that's all. + The blood in torrents 'gins to fall; + I only tell the sober truth, + They fought it out with nail and tooth. + + + [Illustration: THE VULTURES AND THE PIGEONS.] + + + I should want breath for the detail, + If I told how with tooth and nail + They battled. Many chiefs fell dead, + Many a dauntless hero bled; + Prometheus on his mountain sighed, + And hoped Jove nearly satisfied. + 'Twas pleasure to observe their pains-- + 'Twas sad to see the corpse-strewn plains. + Valour, address, and stratagem, + By turns were tried by all of them; + By folks so brave no means were lost + To fill each spare place on the coast + Of Styx. Each varied element + Ghosts to the distant realm had sent. + This fury roused, at last, deep pity, + Within the pigeons' quiet city; + They--of the neck of changing hue, + The heart so tender and so true-- + Resolved, as well became their nation, + To end the war by mediation. + Ambassadors they chose and sent, + Who worked with such a good intent, + The Vultures cried, "A truce," at last, + And wars red horrors from them cast. + Alas! the Pigeons paid for it; + Their heart was better than their wit; + The cursed race upon them fell, + And made a carnage terrible; + Dispeopled every farm and town, + And struck the unwise people down. + + In this, then, always be decided: + Keep wicked people still divided; + The safety of the world depends + On that--sow war among their friends; + Contract no peace with such, I say, + But this is merely by the way. + + + + + FABLE CXXXII + + + THE COURT OF THE LION. + + + His Majesty Leo, in order to find + The extent of his varied and ample dominions, + Had summoned his vassals of every kind, + Of all colours and shapes, and of divers opinions. + A circular, signed by His Majesty's hand. + Was the means of conveying the King's invitation-- + He promised festivities regally grand + (With an evident eye to self-glorification). + His palace was open, of course, to the throng; + What a place!--a mere slaughter-house, putting it plainly, + Where visitors met with an odour so strong, + That they strove to protect their olfactories vainly. + The Bear in disgust put a paw to his nose; + He had scarcely the time to repent his grimaces; + For Leo at once in a fury arose, + And consigned the poor brute to the Styx, to make faces. + The Monkey, true courtier, approved of the deed-- + Said the palace was fit for a king's habitation, + And thought neither amber nor musk could exceed + The rich odour that gave him such gratification. + His fulsome behaviour had little success; + He was treated the same as the previous aspirant + (His Leonine Majesty, let us confess, + Was Caligula-like, and a bit of a tyrant). + The Fox trotted up, very servile and sly; + Said the monarch, "No shuffling, but answer me frankly; + Beware how you venture to give your reply: + Do you notice that anything smells rather rankly?" + But Reynard was more than a match for his king, + And replied that his cold being rather a bad one, + He could not at present distinguish a thing + By its odour, or even assert that it <i>had</i> one. + There's a hint for plain-speakers and flatterers here-- + You should ne'er be too servile nor over-sincere; + And to answer sometimes in a round-about way, + Is a dozen times better than plain yea or nay. + + + + + FABLE CXXXIII. + + + THE MILK-MAID AND THE MILK-PAIL. + + + Perette, her Milk-pail balanced on her head, + Tripped gaily and without hindrance down the road, + So slim and trim, and gay she nimbly sped. + For more agility, with such a load, + She'd donned her shortest kirtle and light shoes. + And as she went she counted up her gains-- + Her future gains--with her twice one, twice twos. + How long division racked her little brains! + "First buy a hundred eggs, then triple broods; + With care like mine the money soon will grow; + + + [Illustration: THE MILK-MAID AND THE MILK-PAIL.] + + + No fox so clever in our neighbour's woods + But must leave me enough, as well I know, + To buy a pig, 'twill fatten very soon; + I buy him large, and for a good round sum + I sell him, mark you that some afternoon; + A cow and calf into our stable come; + Who'll prevent that? that's what I mean to say. + I see the calf skipping among the herd." + Then Perette skipped for joy. Alack-a-day! + Down came the milk, I give you my sworn word: + Adieu cow, calf, pig, chicken, all the rest. + She left with tearful eye her fortune lost, + And ran to tell her husband, dreading lest + He'd beat her, when in anger tempest tossed. + The neighbours, doubling up with laughter, + Called her the Milk-pail ever after. + + Who has not raised his tower in Spain, + And in a cloud-land longed to reign? + Picrocolles, Pyrrhus have so done, + Sages or fools, just like this one. + All dream by turns; the dream is sweet; + The world lies prostrate at our feet: + Our souls yield blindly to the vision, + Ours beauty, honour, fields Elysian. + 'Tis I alone the bravest smite, + The dethroned Sophy owns my might; + They choose me king, in crowds I'm led; + Gold crowns come raining on my head. + A fly soon wakes me up once more, + And I am Big John, as before. + + + + + FABLE CXXXIV. + + + THE CURATE AND THE CORPSE. + + + A Dead man, on his mournful way. + To his last lodging went one day. + A Curé, bustling gaily, came + In due form, to inter the same. + Deceased was in a coach, with care + Packed snugly from the sun and air; + Clad in a robe, alas! ye proud, + Summer or winter, called a shroud; + To change it no one is allowed. + The pastor sat the dead beside, + Reciting, without grief or pride, + Lessons, responses, and those done, + The funeral psalms; yes, every one. + Good Mr. Dead-man, let them chant, + The salary is all they want. + The Curé Chouart shut the eyes + Of his dead man, lest he surprise + The priest who snatched from him a prize. + His looks they seemed to say, "My friend, + From you I'll have, before I end, + This much in silver, that in wax," + And many another little tax; + That soon would bring our good divine + A small cask of the choicest wine; + His pretty niece a new silk gown, + And Paquette something from the town. + Just as his pleasant thoughts took flight, + There came a crash... Curé, good night! + The leaden coffin strikes his head. + Parishioner, lapped up in lead, + Politely you went first, you see, + Now comes the priest for company. + + Such is our life, as in this tale: + See Curé Chouart counting on his fee, + Like the poor girl with the milk-pail. + + + + + FABLE CXXXV. + + + THE MAN WHO RUNS AFTER FORTUNE, AND THE MAN WHO WAITS FOR HER. + + + Is there a man beneath the sun, + Who does not after Fortune run? + I would I were in some snug place, + And high enough to watch the race + Of the long, scuffling, struggling train + That hunt Dame Fortune all in vain. + The phantom flies from land to land, + They follow with an outstretched hand. + Now they have almost caught her. No; + She's vanished like the April bow. + Poor creatures! Pity them, I do: + Fools deserve pity--the whole crew, + By no means rage--"You see, we hope; + That cabbage-planter made a Pope. + Are we not quite as good?" they cry. + "Twenty times better," my reply. + "But what avails your mighty mind, + When Fortune is so densely blind? + Besides, what use the Papacy? + It is not worth the price, may be." + Rest, rest; a treasure that's so great + 'Twas once for gods reserved by Fate; + How rarely fickle Fortune sends + Such gifts unto her trusting friends. + Seek not the goddess, stay at home; + Then like her sex she's sure to come. + Two friends there lived in the same place, + Who were by no means in bad case. + One sighed for Fortune night and day: + "Let's quit our sojourn here, I pray," + He to the other said, "You know, + Prophets in their own country go + Unhonoured; let us seek elsewhere." + "Seek!" said the other; "I'll stay here. + I wish no better land or sky: + Content yourself, and I will try + To sleep the time out patiently." + The friend--ambitious, greedy soul!-- + Set out to reach the wished-for goal; + And on the morrow sought a place + Where Fortune ought to show her face, + And frequently--the Court, I mean; + So there he halts, to view the scene; + Still seeking early, seeking late, + The hours propitious to Fate; + But yet, though seeking everywhere, + He only found regret and care. + "It's of no use," at last he cried; + "Queen Fortune elsewhere must abide; + And yet I see her, o'er and o'er, + Enter by this and that man's door: + And how, then, is it I can never + Meet her, though I seek her ever?" + These sort of people, I'm afraid, + Ambition find a losing trade. + Adieu, my lords; my lords, adieu; + Follow the shadow ruling you. + Fortune at Surat temples boasts; + Let's seek those distant Indian coasts, + Ye souls of bronze who e'er essayed + This voyage; nay, diamond arms arrayed + The man who first crossed the abyss. + Many a time our friend, I wis, + Thought of his village and his farm, + Fearing incessantly some harm + From pirates, tempests, rocks and sands, + All friends of death. In many lands + Man seeks his foeman, round and round, + Who soon enough at home is found. + In Tartary they tell the man + That Fortune's busy at Japan: + Then off he hurries, ne'er downcast. + Seas weary of the man at last, + And all the profit that he gains + Is this one lesson for his pains: + Japan, no more than Tartary, + Brought good to him or wealthy fee. + At last he settles it was shame + To leave his home, and takes the blame. + Then he returns: the well-loved place + Makes tears of joy run down his face. + "Happy," he cries, "the man at ease, + Who lives at home himself to please; + Ruling his passions, by report + Knowing alone of sea or Court, + Or Fortune, of thy empire, Jade, + Which has by turns to all displayed + Titles and wealth, that lead us on + From rising to the setting sun; + And yet thy promises astray + Still lead us to our dying day. + Henceforth I will not budge again, + And shall do better, I see plain." + While he thus schemed, resolved, and planned, + And against Fortune clenched his hand, + He found her in the open air + At his friend's door, and sleeping there. + + + + + FABLE CXXXVI. + + + THE TWO FOWLS. + + + Two Barn-door Fowls in peace spent all their life, + Until, at last, love, love lit up the strife: + War's flames burst out. O Love! that ruined Troy, + 'Twas thou who, by fierce quarrel, banished joy, + And stained with blood and crime the Xanthus' tide! + Long, long the combat raged 'tween wrath and pride, + Until the rumour spread the whole town through, + And all the crested people ran to view. + Many a well-plumed Helen was the prize + Of him who conquered; but the vanquished flies-- + Skulks to the darkest and most hidden place, + + + [Illustration: THE TWO FOWLS.] + + + And mourns his love with a dejected face. + His rival, proud of recent victory, + Exulting crows, and claims the sovereignty. + The conquered rival, big with rage, dilates, + Sharpens his beak, and Fortune invocates, + Clapping his wings, while, maddened by defeat, + The other skulks and plans a safe retreat. + The victor on the roof is perched, to crow; + A vulture sees the bragger far below. + Adieu! love, pride, and glory, all are vain + Beneath the vulture's beak;--so ends that reign. + The rival soon returns to make his court + To the fair dame, and victory to report, + As he had half-a-dozen other wives, to say the least, + You'll guess the chattering at his wedding feast. + + Fortune always rejoices in such blows: + Insolent conquerors, beware of those. + Still mistrust Fate, and dread security, + Even the evening after victory. + + + + + FABLE CXXXVII. + + + THE COACH AND THE FLY. + + + Up a long dusty hill, deep sunk in sand, + Six sturdy horses drew a Coach. The band + Of passengers were pushing hard behind: + Women, old men, and monks, all of one mind. + Weary and spent they were, and faint with heat; + Straight on their heads the sunbeams fiercely beat. + In the hot air, just then, came buzzing by, + Thinking to rouse the team, a paltry Fly. + Stings one, and then another; views the scene: + Believing that this ponderous machine + Is by his efforts moved, the pole bestrides; + And now upon the coachman's nose he rides. + Soon as the wheels begin again to grind + The upward road, and folks to push behind, + He claims the glory; bustles here and there, + Fussy and fast, with all the toil and care + With which a general hurries up his men, + To charge the broken enemy again, + And victory secure. The Fly, perplexed + With all the work, confessed that she was vexed + No one was helping, in that time of need. + The monk his foolish breviary would read: + He chose a pretty time! a woman sang: + Let her and all her foolish songs go hang! + Dame Fly went buzzing restless in their ears, + And with such mockery their journey cheers. + After much toil, the Coach moves on at last: + "Now let us breathe; the worst of it is past," + The Fly exclaimed; "it is quite smooth, you know; + Come, my good nags, now pay me what you owe." + + So, certain people give themselves great airs, + And meddlers mix themselves with one's affairs; + Try to be useful, worry more and more, + Until, at last, you show the fools the door. + + + + + FABLE CXXXVIII. + + + THE INGRATITUDE AND INJUSTICE OF MEN TOWARDS FORTUNE. + + + A merchant, trading o'er the seas, + Became enriched by every trip. + No gulf nor rock destroyed his ease; + He lost no goods, from any ship. + + To others came misfortunes sad, + For Fate and Neptune had their will. + Fortune for him safe harbours had; + His servants served with zeal and skill. + + He sold tobacco, sugar, spices, + Silks, porcelains, or what you please; + Made boundless wealth (this phrase suffices), + And "lived to clutch the golden keys." + + 'Twas luxury that gave him millions: + In gold men almost talked to him. + Dogs, horses, carriages, postillions, + To give this man seemed Fortune's whim. + + A Friend asked how came all this splendour: + "I know the 'nick of time,'" he said, + "When to be borrower and lender: + My care and talent all this made." + + His profit seemed so very sweet, + He risked once more his handsome gains; + But, this time, baffled was his fleet: + Imprudent, he paid all the pains. + + One rotten ship sank 'neath a storm, + And one to watchful pirates fell; + A third, indeed, made port in form, + But nothing wanted had to sell. + + Fortune gives but one chance, we know: + All was reversed,--his servants thieves. + Fate came upon him with one blow, + And made the mark that seldom leaves. + + The Friend perceived his painful case. + "Fortune, alas!" the merchant cries. + "Be happy," says his Friend, "and face + The world, and be a little wise." + + "To counsel you is to give health: + I know that all mankind impute + To Industry their peace and wealth, + To Fortune all that does not suit." + + Thus, if each time we errors make, + That bring us up with sudden halt, + Nothing's more common than to take + Our own for Fate or Fortune's fault. + + Our good we always make by force, + The evil fetters us so strong; + For we are always right, of course, + And Destiny is always wrong. + + + [Illustration: AN ANIMAL IN THE MOON.] + + + + + FABLE CXXXIX. + + + AN ANIMAL IN THE MOON. + + + Some sages argue that all men are dupes, + And that their senses lead the fools in troops; + Other philosophers reverse this quite, + And prove that man is nearly always right. + Philosophy says true, senses mislead, + If we judge only by them without heed; + But if we mark the distance and reflect + On atmosphere and what it will effect, + The senses cheat none of us; Nature's wise: + I'll give an instance. With my naked eyes + I see the sun; how large is it, think you? + Three feet at farthest? It appears so, true! + But could I see it from a nearer sky, + 'Twould seem of our vast universe the eye: + The distance shows its magnitude, you see; + My hand discovers angles easily. + Fools think the earth is flat; it's round, I know; + Some think it motionless, it moves so slow. + Thus, in a word, my eyes have wisdom got, + The illusions of the senses cheat me not. + My soul, beneath appearances, sees deep; + My eye's too quick, a watch on it I keep; + My ear, not slow to carry sounds, betrays; + When water seems to bend a stick ten ways, + My reason helps me out, and if my sight + Lies always, yet it never cheats me quite: + If I would trust my senses, very soon + They'd tell me of the woman in the moon. + What is there really?--No, mistrust your eyes, + For what you see are inequalities. + The surface of the moon has many regions, + Here spread the plains, there mountains rise in legions. + In light and shade strange figures you can trace--- + An elephant, an ox, a human face. + Not long ago, in England men perplexed, + Saw, in a telescope, what <i>savants</i> vexed, + A monster in this planet's mirror fair; + Wild cries of horror filled the midnight air. + Some change was pending--some mysterious change, + Predicting wars, or a misfortune strange. + The monarch came, he favoured learned men; + The wondrous monster showed itself again: + It was a mouse between the glasses shut-- + The source of war--the nibbler of a nut. + The people laughed--oh, nation blessed with ease, + When will the French have time for toils like these? + Mars brings us glory's harvests; still the foe + Shrinks down before us, dreading every blow; + 'Tis we who seek them, sure that victory, + Slave to our Louis, follows ceaselessly + His flag; his laurels render us renowned: + Yet memory has not left this mortal round. + We wish for peace--for peace alone we sigh; + Charles tastes the joys of rest: he would in war + Display his valour, and his flag bear far, + To reach the tranquil joy that now he shares. + Would he could end our quarrels and our cares! + What incense would be his, what endless fame! + Did not Augustus win a glorious name, + Equal to Cæsar's in its majesty, + And worthy of like reverence, may be? + Oh, happy people, when will Peace come down, + To dower our nation with her olive-crown? + + + + + FABLE CXL. + + + THE FORTUNE-TELLER. + + + Opinion is the child of Chance, + And this Opinion forms our taste. + Against all people I advance + These words. I find the world all haste-- + Infatuation; justice gone; + A torrent towards a goal unseen. + We only know things will be done + In their own way, as they have been. + + In Paris lived a Sorceress, + Who told the people of their fate. + All sought her:--men; girls loverless; + A husband whom his wife thought late + In dying; many a jealous woman. + Ill-natured mothers, by the score, + Came--for they all were simply human-- + To hear what Fortune had in store. + + Her tricks of trade were hardihood, + Some terms of art, a neat address. + Sometimes a prophecy proved good, + And then they thought her nothing less + Than Delphi's Pythoness of yore: + Though ignorance itself was she; + And made her wretched garret floor + Highway for gullibility. + + Grown rich, she took a house, and bought + A place of profit for her lord. + The witch's garret soon was sought + By a young girl, who never soared + To witchery, save by eyes and voice. + But yet they all came, as of old-- + The lucky, who in wealth rejoice, + And poor--to have their fortunes told. + + + [Illustration: THE FORTUNE-TELLER.] + + + The regulation had been made + For this poor place, by her who late + Had been its tenant; and the shade + Sybillic hovered o'er its state. + In vain the maiden said, "You mock. + Read Fate!--I scarcely know my letters!" + But though such words, of course, might shock, + They never could convince "her betters." + + "Predict--divine;--here's gold in pay, + More than the learned get together." + What wonder if the maid gave way, + Despite herself, such gold to gather? + For fortune-telling seemed the place + All tumble-down, and weird, and broken: + A broomstick, for the witches' chase, + And many another mystic token; + + The witches' sabbath; all suggested + The change of body, and of face; + And so in Fate fools still invested. + But what of her who made the place? + She seeks the golden prize to gain, + In gorgeous state, like any parrot; + But people jeer and pass. In vain; + They all go rushing to the garret. + + 'Tis custom governs everything. + I've often seen, in courts of law, + Some stupid barrister, who'll bring + Briefs such as clever men ne'er saw. + All a mistake: his eyes may glisten; + They'll take him for some other man: + One unto whom the world will listen. + Explain me this, now, if you can. + + + + + FABLE CXLI. + + + THE COBBLER AND THE BANKER. + + + A Cobbler, who would sing from dawn to dark + (A very merry soul to hear and see, + As satisfied as all the Seven Wise Men could be), + Had for a neighbour, not a paltry clerk, + But a great Banker, who could roll in gold: + A Crœsus, singing little, sleeping less; + Who, if by chance he had the happiness, + Just towards morning, to drop off, I'm told, + Was by the Cobbler's merry singing woke. + Loud he complain'd that Heaven did not keep + For sale, in market-places, soothing sleep. + He sent, then, for the Cobbler ('twas no joke):-- + "What, Gregory, do you earn in the half-year?" + "Half-year, sir!" said the Cobbler, very gaily; + "I do not reckon so. I struggle daily + For the day's bread, and only hunger fear." + "Well, what a day?--what is your profit, man?" + "Now more, now less;--the worst thing is those fêtes. + Why, without them--and hang their constant dates!-- + The living would be tidy--drat the plan! + Monsieur the Curé always a fresh saint + Stuffs in his sermon every other week." + The Banker laughed to hear the fellow speak, + And utter with such <i>naïveté</i> his complaint. + "I wish," he said, "to mount you on a throne; + Here are a hundred crowns, knave--keep them all, + They'll serve you well, whatever ill befall." + The Cobbler thought he saw before him thrown + All money in the earth that had been found. + Home went he to conceal it in a vault, + Safe from discovery and thieves' assault. + There, too, he buried joy,--deep under ground; + No singing now: he'd lost his voice from fear. + + + [Illustration: THE COBBLER AND THE BANKER.] + + + His guests were cares, suspicions, vain alarms; + All day he watch'd,--at night still dreading harms: + If but a cat stirr'd, robbers he could hear. + At last the poor fool to his neighbour ran; + He had not woke him lately, I'm afraid: + "Return my songs and tranquil sleep," he said, + "And take your hundred crowns, my generous man." + + + + + FABLE CXLII. + + + THE CAT, THE WEASEL, AND THE LITTLE RABBIT. + + + A little Rabbit's charming nook + A Weasel seized upon one morn; + His household gods with him he took, + Jane Rabbit's mansion to adorn. + + At break of day departed Jane, + To munch amongst the thyme and roses, + Returning, at her window-pane-- + "Why, there the wicked Weasel's nose is!" + + "Oh, gracious goodness! what is here? + Turned out of my paternal hall! + From this you quickly disappear, + Or I'll give all the rats a call." + + The Weasel simply said the Earth + Always belonged to the first comer; + All other claims were little worth: + A sufferance tenant a misnomer. + + A little kingdom he had found: + "Now, tell me, what more right have you + To these domains, this patch of ground, + Than Tom or Dick, than Nan or Sue?" + + "Usage and custom of the law," + The Rabbit said, "give me the place: + On sire's and grandsire's claims I stand-- + I, who here represent their race." + + "A law most wise! can't be more wise!" + Said cunning Weasel. "What of that? + Our claims to settle, I devise + A reference to our friend the Cat." + + It was a Cat of solemn mien-- + A very hermit of a Cat:-- + A saint, upon whose face was seen + Precept and practice, law, and--fat. + + The Rabbit here agreed, and then + They sought the pious Pussy's home. + "Approach--I'm deaf, he said; and when + They came, they told him why they'd come. + + "Approach, fear not, for calm is law; + For law no one here ever lacks;" + And, stretching on each side a claw, + He broke both litigants' weak backs. + + This story calls unto my mind + The sad result which often springs + From squabbles of a larger kind, + Which small grand-dukes refer to kings. + + + + + FABLE CXLIII. + + + THE LION, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX. + + + A Lion, sickly, weak, and full of years, + Desired a remedy against old age + (<i>Impossible</i>'s a word no monarch hears + Without directly flying in a rage). + He sent for doctors--men of draughts and pills; + From far and near, obedient to the call, + Came makers-up of recipes and pills: + The Fox alone declined to come at all. + At court the Wolf malignantly referred + To Reynard's absence, whereupon the King-- + Whose anger was aroused at what he heard--- + Decided on a rather cruel thing. + He sent a force to smoke sly Reynard out, + And bring him, willy nilly. When he came, + The Fox could scarcely entertain a doubt + As to whose tongue had put him thus to shame. + "I greatly fear, your Majesty," said he, + "You think me rude; you wrong me, if you do: + For I was on a pilgrimage, you see, + And went to offer up my vows for <i>you.</i> + I scarcely need inform you I have met + Expert physicians whilst I was away, + And hope to cure you of your sickness yet, + Which comes from coldness of the blood, they say + You must, sire, skin a Wolf, and wrap the skin + About you close, to get the body warmed; + And when the heat has kindled up within + The fires of life again, the cure's performed. + Our friend, I'm sure, will take immense delight + In lending you his coat; so, take it, sire." + The Lion supped upon the Wolf that night, + And made the skin a part of his attire. + + + [Illustration: THE LION, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX.] + + + Courtiers, discretion is your safest plan: + Malice is sure to find its source again; + And, while you do yourself what good you can, + Reflect that slandering others is in vain. + + + + + FABLE CXLIV. + + + THE HEAD AND THE TAIL OF THE SERPENT. + + + The Snake has two parts, it is said, + Hostile to man--his tail and head; + And both, as all of us must know, + Are well known to the Fates below. + Once on a time a feud arose + For the precedence--almost blows. + "I always walked before the Tail," + So said the Head, without avail. + The Tail replied, "I travel o'er + Furlongs and leagues--ay, score on score-- + Just as I please. Then, is it right + I should be always in this plight? + Jove! I am sister, and not slave: + Equality is all I crave. + Both of the selfsame blood, I claim + Our treatment, then, should be the same. + As well as her I poison bear, + Powerful and prompt, for men to fear. + And this is all I wish to ask; + Command it--'tis a simple task: + Let me but in my turn go first; + For her 'twill be no whit the worst. + I sure can guide, as well as she; + No subject for complaint shall be." + Heaven was cruel in consenting: + Such favours lead but to repenting. + Jove should be deaf to such wild prayers: + He was not then; so first she fares; + She, who in brightest day saw not, + No more than shut up in a pot, + Struck against rocks, and many a tree-- + 'Gainst passers-by, continually; + Until she led them both, you see, + Straight into Styx. Unhappy all + Those wretched states who, like her, fall. + + + + + FABLE CXLV. + + + THE DOG WHICH CARRIED ROUND HIS NECK HIS MASTER'S DINNER. + + + Few eyes are against beauty proof; + Few hands from gold can keep aloof; + Few people guard a treasure well, + Or of strict faithfulness can tell. + A certain Dog, true, brave, and stout, + Carried his master's dinner out. + This self-denial pressed him hard, + When he had dainty food to guard: + Yet long he kept it safe and sound. + Well, we are tempted oft, 'tis found, + By good things near us! Strange, we learn + From dogs, and yet we hopeless turn + From men when temperance is in view! + One day this Dog, so staunch and true, + A mastiff met, who wished to seize + The dinner. Not so, if you please. + The Dog put down the food, to fight + A mighty combat. Left and right + Came other dogs,--mere thieves and foes, + Who cared not for the hardest blows. + Our Dog, who dreaded every stranger, + And saw the food was much in danger, + Wanted his share. "Come, gentlemen, + This rabbit does for me; now, then, + You take the rest!" so he leaped on it, + And then the others fell upon it. + He snapped the best, and then they flew + And shared the plunder,--the whole crew. + So, sometimes, when they yield a town, + And soldiers burghers trample down, + Sheriffs and provosts are the worst + To rob and pillage, being first: + + + [Illustration: THE DOG AND HIS MASTER'S DINNER.] + + + Pleasant to see them pistoles seize, + Filling their purses at their ease! + And if, by chance, to one more cool + Some scruples come, they call him fool: + Then he repents him of the blunder, + And is the first to lead the plunder. + + + + + FABLE CXLVI. + + + DEATH AND THE DYING MAN. + + + Death never yet surprised the sage, + Who's always ready for the stage; + Knowing each hour that comes may be + His passage to eternity. + Death's rule embraces every day: + Each moment is beneath his sway. + We all pay tribute to that lord; + We all bow down beneath his sword. + The instant the king's child has birth-- + And looks forth on this desert earth--- + That instant Death may it surprise, + And close its scarcely-opened eyes. + Beauty, youth, virtue, every day, + Death steals so ruthlessly away. + One day the world will be his prey: + This knowledge is most largely shared; + For no event we're less prepared. + + A dying man, a century old, + Complained to Death, that he was told + Too suddenly, before his will + Was made; he'd duties to fulfil; + "Now, is it just," this was his cry, + "To call me, unprepared, to die? + No; wait a moment, pray, sir, do; + My wife would wish to join me, too. + For still one nephew I'd provide: + And I have causes to decide. + I must enlarge my house, you know. + Don't be so pressing, pray, sir, go." + "Old man," said Death, "for once be wise; + My visit can be no surprise. + What! I impatient? In the throng + Of Paris who has lived so long? + Find me in all France even ten; + I should have warned you, you say then? + And so your will you would have made, + Your grandson settled; basement laid. + What! not a warning, when your feet + Can scarcely move, and fast retreat + Your memory makes, when half your mind + And wit is left a league behind? + When nearly all fails?--no more hearing-- + No taste--all fading, as I'm fearing. + The star of day shines now in vain + For you: why sigh to view again + The pleasures out of reach? Just see + Your comrades drop continually, + Dead, dying: is no warning there? + I put it to you, is this fair? + Come, come, old man; what! wrangling still? + No matter, you must leave your will; + The great republic cares not, sir, + For one or no executor." + + And Death was right: old men, at least, + Should die as people leave a feast, + Thanking the host--their luggage trim: + Death will not stay to please their whim. + You murmur, dotard! look and sigh, + To see the young, that daily die; + Walk to the grave or run, a name + To win of everlasting fame: + Death glorious may be, yet how sure, + And sometimes cruel to endure. + In vain I preach; with foolish zeal, + Those most akin to death but feel + The more regret in quitting life, + And creep reluctant from the strife. + + + + + FABLE CXLVII. + + + THE POWER OF FABLES. + + TO M. DE BARILLON. + + + How can a great ambassador descend + To simple tales a patient ear to lend? + How could I trifling verses to you bring, + Or dare with transient playfulness to sing? + For if, sometimes, I vainly tried to soar, + Would you not only deem me rash once more? + You have more weighty matters to debate + Than of a Weasel and a Rabbit's fate. + Read me, or read me not; but, oh, debar + All Europe banding against us in war. + Lest from a thousand places there arise + Fresh enemies our legions to surprise. + England already wearies of her rest, + And views our king's alliance as a jest. + Is it not time that Louis sought repose? + What Hercules but wearies of his blows + At the huge Hydra?--will it show its might, + And press again the lately ended fight, + By thrusting forth another head to meet, + At his strong sinewy arm, a fresh defeat? + If your mind, pliant, eloquent, and strong, + Could soften hearts, and but avert this wrong, + I'd sacrifice a hundred sheep to you-- + A pretty thing for a poor bard to do. + Have then, at least, the kindness graciously + This pinch of incense to receive from me. + Accept my ardent vows, and what I write: + The subject suits you that I here indite. + I'll not repeat the praises Envy owns + Are due to you, who need not fear her groans. + + In Athens' city, fickle, vain, of old, + An Orator, who dangers manifold + Saw crowding on his country, one day went + Up in the tribune, with the wise intent, + With his skill'd tongue, and his despotic art, + Towards a republic to force every heart. + He spoke with fervour 'bout the common weal; + They would not listen: they were hard as steel. + The Orator, to rouse them, had recourse + To metaphors of greater fire and force, + To sting the basest. He awoke the dead. + He, Zeus-like, flamed and thunder'd o'er each head: + The wind bore all away,--yes, every word. + The many-headed monster had not heard: + They ran to see the rabble children play, + Or two boys fighting made them turn away. + What did the speaker do?--he tried once more: + "Ceres," he said, "once made, we hear, a tour. + An Eel and Swallow follow'd her: + A river gave them some demur. + The Eel it swam: the Swallow flew, + Now what I tell you's really true." + And as he utter'd this, the crowd + "And Ceres, what did she?" cried loud. + "Just what she did:--then pious rage + Stirr'd him to execrate the age. + What children's tales absorb your mind, + Careless of all the woes behind! + Thou only careless Grecian state, + What Philip does you should debate." + At this reproach the mob grew still, + And listen'd with a better will: + Such silence a mere fable won! + We're like the Greeks, all said and done. + And I myself, who preach so well, + If any one to me would tell + "Le Peau d'Ane," I should, with delight, + Listen for half the livelong night. + The world is old, as I have heard, + And I believe it, on my word; + Yet still, though old, I'm reconciled + To entertain it like a child. + + + + + FABLE CXLVIII. + + + THE BEAR AND THE AMATEUR OF GARDENING. + + + A certain Mountain Bruin once, they say, + Was wont within a lonely wood to stray,-- + A new Bellerophon secluded there, + His mind had gone, and left his brain-pan bare. + Reason on lonely people sheds no ray; + It's good to speak--better to silent stay: + Both in excess are bad. No animal + Was ever seen, or was within a call. + Bear though he was, he wearied of this life, + And longed for the world's joy and the world's strife: + Then "Melancholy marked him for her own." + Not far from him an old man lived alone: + + + [Illustration: THE BEAR AND THE AMATEUR OF GARDENING.] + + + Dull as the Bear, he loved his garden well; + Was priest of Flora and Pomona; still, + Though the employment's pleasant, a kind friend + Is needful, its full charms to it to lend: + Gardens talk little, save in my small book. + Weary at last of their mere smiling look, + And those his dumb companions, one fine day, + Our man set forth upon his lonely way, + To seek a friend. The Bear, with the same thought, + Had left his mountain, satisfied with nought. + By chance most strange the two adventurers meet + At the same turning. He's afraid to greet + The Bear; but fly he can't. What can he do? + Well, like a Gascon, he gets neatly through: + Conceals his fright. The bear is not well bred; + Still growls, "Come, see me!" but the other said, + "Here is my cottage; pray come in, my lord; + Do me the honour at my frugal board + To lunch <i>al fresco.</i> I have milk and fruit, + That will, perhaps, your worship's pleasure suit + For once, though not your ordinary fare; + I offer all I have." With friendly air + They're chums already before reaching home; + Still better friends when there they've fairly come. + In my opinion it's a golden rule: + Better be lonely than be with a fool. + The Bear, who did not speak two words a day, + Left the drudge there to work and toil away. + Bruin went hunting, and brought in the game, + Or flapped the blow-flies, when the blow-flies came; + And kept from off his sleeping partner's face + Of winged parasites the teasing race. + One day a buzzer o'er the sleeping man + Poised, and then settled on his nose,--their plan. + The Bear was crazy: all his chase was vain; + "I'll catch you, thief!" he cried: it came again. + 'Twas said, 'twas done; the flapper seized a stone, + And launched it bravely--bravely it was thrown. + He crushed the fly, but smashed the poor man's skull-- + A sturdy thrower, but a reasoner dull. + Nothing's so dangerous as a foolish friend; + Worse than a real wise foe, you may depend. + + + + + FABLE CXLIX. + + + THE MAN AND THE FLEA. + + + People pray to and weary the gods, now and then, + About trifles unworthy to interest men; + Thinking Providence cruel unless it contrives + To design to their likings the whole of their lives. + Why believe that Olympus should study us more + Than it studied the Greeks and the Trojans of yore? + + A gaby was bit on the shoulder, one night, + By a Flea, which took refuge instanter in flight. + "O Hercules, Hercules, prithee come down, + And exterminate Fleas!" cried the suppliant clown. + "O Jupiter, strike with your lightning the beasts, + And avenge me on them and their horrible feasts!" + + To punish a Flea, 'twould be rather a wonder + If gods went to work with their clubs and their thunder. + + + + + FABLE CL. + + + THE WOMAN AND THE SECRET. + + + A secret is a dreadful weighty thing: + Few women carry secrets very far; + And this remark doth to my memory bring + Some men, too, born beneath the female star. + To try his wife, a husband one night cried, + "Ye gods, I perish! spare me, spare, I pray: + For, lo! I have just laid an egg." "An egg?" she sighed. + "Here it is--newly laid: but do not say + A single word, or they will call me 'hen.' + Be silent, darling." Then, in full belief, + She swore by all the gods to keep all men + Quite in the dark, so she assured her chief. + But with the shadows pass those words of hers. + Foolish and indiscreet, at earliest dawn, + She seeks her neighbour, and she thus avers: + "My gossip, such a thing took place last night! + You must say nothing, or I shall be beat. + My husband laid an egg, yes, large and white. + And big as any four; but don't repeat, + In Heaven's name, nor mention anywhere + This strange occurrence." "Now, I see you mock," + The other said. "What! mention the affair! + You know me not. Go, I am like a rock!" + The hen's wife hastened homeward presently; + The other spreads the tale in twenty places. + The one big egg she quickly turns to three; + Nor was this all: to many startled faces + Another chatterer makes the number four. + Whispering is no more needful--all is known. + Before the day was over there had flown + A rumour that the man had forty score + Of chickens of his own all cackling round his door. + + + + + [Illustration: TIRCIS AND AMARANTH.] + + + FABLE CLI. + + + TIRCIS AND AMARANTH. + + FOR MADEMOISELLE DE SILLERY. + + + I quitted Æsop, long ago, + For pleasant old Boccaccio; + But now a fair Divinity + Would once more from Parnassus see + Fables in my poor manner; so + To answer with a boorish "No," + Without a valid, stout excuse, + To goddesses would be no use; + Divinities need more than this, + And belles especially, I wis. + Her wishes are all queens, you see; + She rules us all, does Sillery; + Who wishes once again to know + Of Master Wolf, and Master Crow. + Who can refuse her majesty? + None can deny her. How can I? + Well, to her mind my stories are + Obscure, and too mysterious far; + For, sometimes, even <i>beaux esprits</i> + Are puzzled and astray, you see. + Let us, then, write in plainer tune, + That she may so decipher soon. + I'll sing of simple shepherds, then, + Before I rhyme of wolves again. + + Tircis to youthful Amaranth, one day, + Said, "Ah! but if you knew the griefs that slay! + Pleasing enchantments! Heaven-kindled woe! + The greatest joy of earth you then would know. + Oh, let me picture them! you need not fear. + Could I deceive you? Stay, then, sweet, and hear. + What! I betray?--I, whose poor heart is cleft + By fondest hopes that cruel Love has left?" + Then Amaranth exclaimed, "What is this pain? + How call you it?--now, tell me once again!" + "'Tis Love!" "A pretty word, its symptoms tell: + How shall I know it--I, who am so well?" + "A malady, to which all pleasant things-- + Yes, even all the pleasures of great kings-- + Seem poor and faded. Lovers thus are known: + In gloomy forests they will walk alone; + Muse by the river, watch the stream beside, + Yet their own faces rise not from the tide; + One image only in the flood shows day by day; + This lovely shadow comes, but to betray: + To other things they're blind. A shepherd speaks; + His voice, his name, raise blushes on your cheeks: + You like to think of him, yet know not why; + You wonder at the wish, and yet you sigh; + You fear to see him, and yet, absent, cry." + Amaranth leaped for joy: "Is this, then, love? + Is that the pain you rank all things above? + It is not new to me: I think I know it." + Tircis thought he was safe, but dared not show it. + The maid said, "Yes, and that, I freely grant, + Is what I feel for dear, dear Clidamant." + Then Tircis almost burst with rage and spite; + But yet it served the cheating fellow right. + Thinking to gain the prize, he lost the game, + And only cleared the road for him who came. + + + + + FABLE CLII. + + + THE JOKER AND THE FISHES. + + + He's vastly popular, your "Funny Man;" + For <i>my</i> part I avoid him when I can. + I generally find him rather hollow;-- + The joker's is no easy art to follow. + I think sarcastic people were created + For fools to grin at, when exhilarated. + Let me present one at a dinner-table, + To point a moral and adorn a fable. + + A wag, dining out at a banker's, one day, + Had some very small fishes put near him. + He saw there were finer ones farther away, + So, pretending the fishes could hear him, + He mutter'd some words to the poor little creatures, + And feign'd to receive their replies. + It was done with such grave and unchangeable features, + That people all opened their eyes. + Then he said that some very particular friend + Was <i>en route</i> for the Indies, or thereabouts; + And he feared he might come to a watery end, + So he wanted some hints of his whereabouts. + "The fishes had answered," he added, politely, + "That <i>they</i> were too young to reply; + But they fancied their fathers could answer him rightly, + Should one of them chance to be by." + To say that the company relished the jest, + Or the jester, is more than I'm able; + But it answered his end, for they gave him the best + Of the fishes that lay on the table. + 'Twas a monster that might have related him stories + As much as a century old; + Long tales of the sea, of its perils and glories, + As wondrous as ever were told. + + + + + FABLE CLIII. + + + THE RAT AND THE OYSTER. + + + A Rustic Rat, of mighty little sense, + Weary of home, would needs go travel thence; + And quitted the paternal hearth, one day, + To study life in places far away. + At each wide prospect, hitherto unscanned, + He murmured, "Oh, how beautiful! how grand! + Yon mount is Caucasus, begirt with pines; + That range, methinks, must be the Apennines." + For every molehill, to his wondering eyes, + Became a mountain of terrific size. + He reached a province of the land, at last, + Where Tethys, deity of seas, had cast + Some Oysters on the sand, which looked at least + Like first-rate frigates to our simple beast. + "My father is a timid soul," he said, + "Who fears to travel: what an empty dread! + As to myself, what marvels I have seen; + What scores of wonders, earthly and marine!" + Thus boasted he, in magisterial tone, + And boasted loud, though speaking all alone. + Most rats, I beg to say, are more discreet, + And use their lips but when they wish to eat. + Meanwhile, one Oyster--a luxurious one-- + With shells apart, was basking in the sun. + Tasting the balmy breeze, it lay agape,-- + A fine fat morsel of seductive shape. + The Rat, with moistenings of the under lip + (Mistaking still the Oyster for a ship), + Ran up, and, smelling something nice to eat, + Prepared, straightway, his grinders for a treat. + "The crew," quoth he, "have left a feast on board,-- + A cold collation, fit for any lord; + If it deceive me not, I've got a prize, + Or else I do not know the use of eyes." + So saying, Master Rat, resolving well, + Peered round the pearly margin of the shell. + It held him fast: the Oyster from his nap + Had woke, and sharply shut his treacherous trap. + This all arose from fatal ignorance: + The fable's useful to the folks of France,-- + Nor France alone: it shows with what surprise + The simplest object strikes a booby's eyes. + And notice, oftentimes, for want of wit, + The fool, who thinks he's biting, is first bit. + + + + + FABLE CLIV. + + + THE TWO FRIENDS. + + + Two steadfast Friends lived once in Monomtàpa; + They loved as if really they'd had the same pàpa: + What one earned the other earned. Ah! for that land; + It's worth ten such countries as ours, understand. + One night, when a deep sleep had fallen on all, + And the sun had gone off in the dark, beyond call, + One of these worthy men, woke by a nightmare, + Ran to his friend, in a shiver, and quite bare. + The other at once takes his purse and his sword, + Accosts his companion, and says, "'Pon my word + You seldom are up when all other men snore; + You make better use of the night than to pore + Over books; but come, tell me, you're ruined at play, + Or you have quarrelled with some one; now, speak out, I say. + Here's my sword and my purse; or, if eager to rest + On a fond wife's compassionate, fondling breast, + Take this slave: she is fair." "No, no," said the other, + "'Twas neither of these things that startled me, brother. + Thanks, thanks for your zeal; 'twas a dream that I had: + I saw you appear to me, looking so sad; + I feared you were ill, and ran to you to see: + 'Twas that dream, so detestable, brought me to thee." + + Which friend loved the most?--come, reader, speak out! + The question is hard, and leaves matter for doubt. + A true friend is choicest of treasures indeed; + In the depths of your heart he will see what you need: + He'll spare you the pain to disclose woes yourself, + Indifferent to either his trouble or pelf: + A dream, when he loves, or a trifle--mere air-- + Will strike him with terror, lest danger be there. + + + + + FABLE CLV. + + + THE PIG, THE GOAT, AND THE SHEEP. + + + A Goat, a Sheep, and a fat Pig were sent + To market, to their mutual discontent; + Not for the pleasures of the noisy fair, + But just to sell--the farmer's only care. + Not to see jugglers' tricks drove on the carter, + Bent only on his traffic and his barter. + Sir Porker screeched, as if he felt the knife, + Or heard ten butchers plotting 'gainst his life. + It was a noise to deafen any one: + His mild companions prayed him to have done. + The carter shouts, "Good heavens! why this riot? + You'll drive us silly; fool! can't you be quiet? + These honest folks should teach you manners, man; + So hold your tongue, you coward, if you can. + Observe this sheep, he has not said a word, + And he is wise." "Now, fool! you talk absurd. + If he the dangers knew as well as I, + Till he was hoarse and blind he'd bleat and cry. + And this my other friend, so calm and still, + Would scream his life out, as I, carter, will. + They think you're only going, on the morrow, + From this his milk, from that his wool to borrow: + <i>They</i> may be right or wrong, I do not know; + But <i>I</i> am certain of the deadly blow: + I'm good but for the spit. Farewell to you, + My house, and wife, and children! now, adieu." + Sir Porker reasoned with sufficient skill; + But all was useless: he was fit to kill. + Fear nor complaint could change his destiny: + He who looks forward least will wisest be. + + + + + FABLE CLVI. + + + THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT. + + + In France there's many a man of small degree + Fond of asserting his own mightiness: + A "nobody" turns "somebody." We see + In this the nation's natural flightiness. + In Spain men are not vain; their high-flown schools + Have made them proud, yet have not made them fools. + + A tiny Rat saw a huge Elephant + Travelling slowly with his equipage; + 'Mongst beasts a sultan, knowing not a want. + His suite comprised within a monstrous cage + + + [Illustration: THE RAT AND THE ELEPHANT.] + + + His household gods, his favourite dog and cat, + His parroquet, his monkey, and all that. + + The Rat, astonished to see people stare + At so much bulk and state, which took up all + The space where he of right should have his share, + Upon the citizens began to call: + "Fools! know you not that smallest rats are equal + To biggest elephants?" (Alas! the sequel.) + + "Is it his monstrous bulk you're staring at? + It can but frighten little girls and boys; + <i>Why, I can do the same.</i> You see, a Rat + Is scarce less than an Elephant." A noise! + The Cat sprang from her cage; and, with one pant, + The Rat found he was not an Elephant. + + + + + FABLE CLVII. + + + THE FUNERAL OF THE LIONESS. + + + The Lion lost his wife, one day; + And everybody made his way + To bring the prince that consolation + Which makes us feel our desolation. + The King announced the funeral + On such a day, to one and all. + They regulate the obsequy, + And marshal the vast company: + As you may guess, each one was there; + The prince's groanings filled the air; + And the den shook, above, below-- + Lions have got great lungs, you know. + As the King does, all the others do; + So the best courtiers blubbered too. + + Let me define a court: a place + Sad--gay; where every changeful face, + Careless of joy, is ready still + To change again at the King's will; + And if some cannot change, they try + To watch the change in the King's eye: + Chameleons, apes, in every feature; + Plastic and pliant in their nature. + One soul by turns fills many bodies: + These knaves are soulless, which more odd is. + + But to return. The Stag alone + Uttered no single sigh or groan. + It could not well be otherwise; + This death avenged old injuries. + The Queen had cruel, mischief done; + Strangled his wife, and slain his son: + Therefore he shed no single tear. + A flatterer noticed, hovering near; + Moreover, the spy saw him smile. + The anger of a King, meanwhile + (I may observe, with Solomon, + The wisest man beneath the sun), + Is terrible; but to our friend + No book could much instruction lend. + "Base creature of the woods!" with scorn + The Lion cried, "you do not mourn! + What should prevent our sacred claws + Teaching you friendship's holy laws? + Come, Wolves, avenge that Queen of mine: + Offer this victim on her shrine!" + The Stag replied, "The time for grief + Is passed; tears now are useless, Chief. + Your wife, whose features well I know, + Appeared to me an hour ago, + Half hid in flowers. 'My friend,' she said, + 'For me your tears are vainly shed. + Weep not: in the Elysian fields + I've every pleasure that life yields, + Conversing with my holy friends; + But for a time the King descends + To a despair that charms me so.'" + Scarce had he spoken thus, when, lo! + "A miracle!" the courtiers cry. + The Stags rewarded, instantly; + And safely, without punishment, + Back to his native woods is sent. + + With dreams amuse a listening king, + With falsehoods sweet and flattering; + Whatever rage within may burn, + He'll gorge the bait, and friendly turn. + + + + + FABLE CLVIII + + + THE BASHAW AND THE MERCHANT. + + + An old Greek Merchant, one day, sought + Protection from a Bashaw, bought + At pasha's, not at merchant's, price + (Such guardians are not very nice). + It cost so much, that he complained + His purse and coffer were both drained. + Three other Turks, of lower station, + Offered, from sheer commiseration, + Their joint help, by word and deed, + For less than half the first to cede: + + + [Illustration: THE BASHAW AND THE MERCHANT.] + + + The Greek he listens, then agrees. + The Bashaw, cheated of his fees, + Is told that if of time the nick + He'd seize, these rascals he must trick-- + Send them to Mahomet, to bear + A message for his private ear; + And quickly, too, or they united, + Knowing his friends, would see him righted; + Would send him some vile poison-broth, + To show the keenness of their wrath; + And that would send him to protect + The Stygian merchants, they expect. + The Turk--an Alexander--strode + Unto the Merchant's snug abode: + Down at the table sat--his air + Generous, bold, and free from care, + For he feared nothing,--how could he? + "My friend," he said, "you're quitting me; + And people tell me to watch keenly.-- + You are too worthy: so serenely + No poisoner ever looks, I know; + So no more on that tack we'll go. + But for these patrons you have found, + Hear me,--to tell a tale I'm bound. + To wrong you I have no intent, + With reasoning, or with argument. + + "Once a poor shepherd used to keep + A dog, to guard his silly sheep; + Till some one asked him, plain and pat, + How he could keep a beast like that, + With such a ravenous appetite: + It really wasn't fair or right. + 'Twas their and every one's desire + He'd give the dog up to the squire. + Three terriers were best for him, + To guard his flocks, in life and limb: + The cur ate three times more than they.-- + But the fool meddlers did not say + He also fought with treble teeth, + When wolves came howling out for death. + The shepherd listened--three dogs bought: + They cost him less, but never fought. + The flock discovered their ill lot + Almost as soon as you, I wot. + Your wretched choice will quickly do: + Now mark what I have said to you; + If you'll do well, return to me." + The Greek obeyed him speedily. + + 'Tis good the provinces should heed: + 'Tis better, in good faith I plead, + Unto one powerful king to bend, + Than on poor princelings to depend. + + + + + FABLE CLIX. + + + THE HOROSCOPE. + + + A Man will sometimes meet his destiny + The moment that he turns ill-luck to flee. + A father had an only son, and dear + He held him; so, as love is kin to fear, + He with astrologers held a debate + About the stars that ruled the infant's fate. + One of these people said the father's care + Should of all lions specially beware. + Till he was twenty, he should keep him in, + And, after that, his safety would begin. + The cautious father, resolute to save + His offspring from the ever-yawning grave, + Knowing the danger turned on one neglect, + Guarded him carefully, in this respect;-- + Forbad him exit; barred up every door; + But other pleasures lavished more and more. + With his companions, all the live-long day, + He was allowed to walk, and run, and play. + When he had reached the age that loves the chase, + A closer ward they kept upon the place. + They talked with scorn of all the huntsman's joys, + Spoke of the dangers--mocked the trumpet's noise. + But all in vain were sermons, though well meant; + Nothing can change the force of temperament. + The youth was restless, fiery, hot, and brave; + The stormy impulses came, wave on wave. + He sighed for pleasure;--more the obstacle, + The more desire; in vain they try to quell: + He knew the cause of all his misery. + The spacious house, so rich with luxury, + Was full of pictures, and of tapestry,-- + The subjects hunting scenes, and forest glades: + Here animals, there men, strong lights, dark shades,-- + The weaver made the lion chief of all: + "Out, monster!" cried the youth, and eyed the wall + With foaming rage: "'tis you that keep me here, + In gloom and fetters. Is it you I fear?" + He spoke, and struck, with all a madman's might, + The beast so innocent. There, out of sight, + Under the hanging, a sharp nail was stuck: + It pricked him deeply, by the worst of luck. + The arts of Æsculapius were in vain: + He joined the shadows that own Pluto's reign. + His death was due to his fond sire's regard, + That in the locked-up palace kept him barred. + It was precaution, too, that whilom slew + The poet Æschylus, if they say true. + It had been prophesied a house should fall + Upon his head, so he shunned tower and wall, + The city left, and camped out on the plain. + Far from all roofs and danger, he was slain: + An eagle, with a tortoise in his grip, flew by; + The poet's bald head, from the upper sky, + Looked like a smooth boulder; the bird let drop + The prey he wished to crush upon the top. + So perished Æschylus. From hence, we see, + The art, if true, led to the misery + That they would shun, all who in it had trust; + But I maintain it's false, and quite unjust. + I'll ne'er believe that Nature ties our hands, + Or would submit herself to such vile bands, + As in the skies to write our future fate; + Times, persons, places, have far greater weight + Than the conjunctions of a charlatan, + Under the self-same planet, tell the man. + Are kings and shepherds born, though one may sway + With golden sceptre, and the other play + With ashen crook? "The will of Jupiter,"-- + A star has not a soul, my worthy sir; + Why should its influence affect these two + So diversely? How can it pierce through + That sea of air,--those cloudy gulfs profound, + Mars and the Sun, and pass each fiery bound? + An atom would disturb it on its path. + Horoscope-mongers, let me rouse your wrath: + The state of Europe,--who predicted that? + Did you foresee it?--now, then, answer pat. + Think of each planet's distance, and its speed; + These sage's passions, it is well agreed, + Prevent their judging of our actions right. + On them our fate depends: a planet's course + Goes like our minds, with a still-varying force. + And yet these fools, with compass and with line, + Of men's whole lives would map out a design! + But do not let the tales that I repeat + Weigh in the balance more than it is meet. + The fate of boy and Æschylus came true, + Blind and deceitful though the art be, too. + Once in a thousand times the bull's eye's hit; + That is the good luck of your juggling wit. + + + + + FABLE CLX. + + + THE TORRENT AND THE RIVER. + + + With a roar and a dreadful sound, + The Torrent dashed down the rock. + All fled from its mighty bound; + And horror followed the shock, + Shaking the fields around. + + No Traveller dared essay + To cross the Torrent, save one, + Who, meeting thieves by the way, + And, finding all chances gone, + Rode straight through the foam and spray. + + No depth! All menace and din! + The Traveller drew his breath + With courage, and laughed within + Himself at escape from death; + But the thieves resolved to win. + + His path they pursue and keep, + Till he comes to a River clear, + Peaceful and tranquil as sleep, + And as far removed from fear: + Its banks are in no way steep. + + But pure and glistening sand + Border the placid wave; + He leaves the dangerous land, + To find a treacherous grave: + It was deep, you'll understand. + + He drinks of the awful Styx, + For deepest waters are still. + Beware of quiet men's tricks; + But for noisy men--they will + Battle with words, not sticks. + + + + [Illustration: THE TORRENT AND THE RIVER.] + + + + + FABLE CLXI. + + + THE ASS AND THE DOG. + + + We ought to help each other, wise men say: + An Ass forgot this motto, one fine day. + I know not how our beast ignored the rule, + For he's an amiable, good-natured fool. + A trusty Dog so gravely paced along, + The master took his nap at even-song: + The Ass began to roam about and feed, + And found, at last, a rank and savoury mead. + There were no thistles,--that he must endure: + One must not be too much an epicure. + The feast was still not bad: while aught remains; + 'Twould pass for once, the air's fresh on these plains. + The Dog, half dead with hunger, said, at last, + "My dear companion, all this time I fast. + Stoop down a bit, and let the panniers fall; + I'll take my dinner out." No word at all + The Ass vouchsafed, fearing to lose a bite; + At length he deigned to answer the poor wight: + "Friend, when your master rouses from his nap, + He's sure at once to call you on his lap, + And give you a good meal." A Wolf, just then, + Ran forth, half famished, from his forest den. + The Ass called loudly to the Dog to aid; + The Dog stood still. "My friend," he quickly said, + "Fly till your master wakes--he'll not be long;-- + Run fast. If caught, avert the coming wrong + With a hard kick, and break the wretch's jaw: + They've shod you lately, and you're right in law. + Mind, stretch him flat." The Dog spoke wise and well. + But the Wolf choked the Ass, and down he fell. + + Conclusion:--We should always help each other; + And every man help carry his lame brother. + + + + + FABLE CLXII. + + + THE TWO DOGS AND THE DEAD ASS. + + + The Virtues must, surely, sisters be, + For that Vices are brothers, we all well know. + And if but to one a man's heart be free, + All the others, like hurricanes, inward blow. + Yet, of course, both of virtues and vices 'tis true + That one heart holds but of either few; + And not more than once in an age we see + The Virtues in one small heart agree. + For if a man be valiant, 'tis sure, + In a thousand cases, he's also rash; + And if he be prudent, the greed for more + Will that respectable virtue dash. + Above all animals beside, + In faithfulness the Dog takes pride; + But, far too oft, for food he craves, + And even dogs are Folly's slaves. + + Two Mastiffs, on a certain day, + Beheld a Donkey's carcase floating, + And fain had seized it for their prey, + But baffling winds deceived their gloating. + At length one said, "Your eyes are good, + My friend, so look on yonder flood, + And tell me what is that I see; + If savoury ox or horse it be." + "Of what it is," replied the other, + "What boots it, friend, to make a bother? + For dogs like us, in want of food, + Even a scurvy Ass is good. + The thing that now the most concerns us + Is, how to swim to such a distance, + Against this plaguy wind's resistance. + But, stay! let's quench the thirst that burns us, + By drinking up the river dry; + And when we've quenched our thirst, we'll pass + And gorge us on that savoury Ass." + With haste the Mastiffs now began + To quaff the river as it ran; + But, well-a-day! it came to pass + That, long ere they had reached the Ass, + The twain had long since quenched their thirst, + And, still persisting, nobly burst. + With us weak mortals 'tis the same, + When eager seeking wealth or fame. + What is hopeless seems not so; + So on from ill to ill we go. + A king whose states are amply round, + Will conquer still, to make them square; + And wealthy men, with gold to spare, + Sigh for just fifty thousand pound; + Whilst others, just as foolish, seek + To learn all science,--Hebrew, Greek! + In short, we most of us agree, + 'Tis easy work to drain the sea! + A mortal man, to carry out + The projects of his single soul, + Would need four bodies, strong and stout, + + + [Illustration: THE TWO DOGS AND THE DEAD ASS.] + + + And then would not complete the whole. + For, even should his life extend + To twice Methuselah's, depend + Ten thousand years would find him still + Where he began--the total <i>nil.</i> + + + + + FABLE CLXIII. + + + THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING CLEVER. + + + Between two citizens there once + Arose a quarrel furious; + The one was poor, but full of knowledge + Ripe, and rare, and curious; + The other had not been to college, + And was, though rich, a perfect dunce. + He, far too fondly oft proclaiming + The items of his hoarded pelf, + Declared that learned men but came in + A rank far underneath himself. + The man was quite a fool, and I + Can never understand the why + Or wherefore wealth alone should place + A man above the learned race. + The rich one to the wise one said, + Full often, "Is your table spread + As well as mine? And if not, tell + What boots it that you read so well? + Night after night you sadly clamber + To the dull third-floor's backmost chamber; + And in December's cold you wear + What in hot June would be too bare; + Whilst as for servants, you have none, + Unless you call your shadow one. + Alack! explain to me the fate + Of this or any other State, + If all were there like you, and I + Spent nothing on my luxury? + We rich ones use our wealth, God knows! + And forth from us to artisan, + To tradesman and to courtesan, + In glorious golden floods it flows. + And even you, who write your works + Chiefly to use the knives and forks + Of rich financiers, get your meed + Of what you call our <i>hoarded</i> greed." + These foolish words, need scarce be said, + Simply contemptuous answer had. + The wise man had too much to say + In answer, and so went away. + But, worse than sarcasm, the sword + Of rough invader met the hoard + Of him who had the wealth: the town + In which he dwelt was toppled down. + They left the city, and the one + Who ignorant was [was] soon undone, + And met all men's contempt; whilst he + Who knew the sciences was free + Of all men call society. + + The quarrel so at last was ended; + But this is what I always say: + In spite of the fool's yea or nay, + The wise must be commended. + + + + + FABLE CLXIV. + + + THE WOLF AND THE HUNTER. + + + O Avarice! thou monster, mad for gain; + Whose mind takes in but one idea of good! + How often shall I use my words in vain? + When shall my tales by thee be understood? + Oh, when will man, with heart so cold, + Still ever heaping gold on gold, + Deaf to the bard as to the wise, + At length from his dull drudgery rise, + And learn how sagely to employ it,-- + Or know, in plain truth, to enjoy it? + Towards this course make haste, my friend, + For human life has soon an end. + And yet, again, a volume in one word compressing, + I tell you, wealth is only, when enjoyed, a blessing. + "Well," you reply, "to-morrow 'twill be done!" + My friend, you may not see to-morrow's sun; + Ah! like the Hunter and the Wolf, you'll find + 'Tis hard to die, and leave your wealth behind. + + A Hunter, having deftly slain + A Stag of ten, beheld a Doe; + So, having taken aim again, + Upon the green sward laid it low. + This booty was sufficient quite + For modest Hunter's appetite; + But, lo! a Boar, of form superb, + Starting from the tangled herb, + Tempted the Archer's greed anew,-- + The bow was twanged, the arrow flew,-- + With futile shears the sister dread + Had frayed his boarship's vital thread. + Full grimly did she now resume + The work at her Tartarean loom, + Nor yet achieved the monsters doom. + + + [Illustration: THE WOLF AND THE HUNTER.] + + + Not yet content?--nor ever will be he + Who once has quaffed the cup of victory. + The Boar has just begun to rise, + When, swift, a red-legged partridge flies + Right in the greedy Hunter's view,-- + A wretched prize, 'tis very true, + Compared with those already got: + And yet the sportsman takes a shot; + But ere the trigger's pulled, the Boar, + Grown strong for just one effort more, + The Hunter slays, and on him dies: + With thanks, away the partridge flies. + + The covetous shall have the best; + The miserly may take the rest.-- + A Wolf that, passing by, took note + Of this sad scene, said, "I devote + To Mistress Luck a sumptuous fane. + What! corpses four together slain? + It seems scarce true! But I must be + Prudent midst this satiety, + For such good seldom comes to me." + (This is, of many vain excuses, + The one the miser mostly uses.) + "Enough," the Wolf continued, "here, + To give me for a month good cheer. + Four bodies with four weeks will fit, + But, nathless, I will wait a bit, + And first this Hunter's bowstring chew, + For scent proclaims it catgut true." + Thus saying, on the bow he flings + His hungry form; when, taking wings, + The undischarged bolt quickly flies + Through the Wolf's carcase, and he dies. + + And now my text I will repeat-- + Wealth, only when enjoyed, is sweet. + Oh, reader, from these gluttons twain + Take warning, ere it be too late. + Through greed was the keen Hunter slain; + Through hoarding up Wolf met his fate. + + + + + FABLE CLXV. + + + JUPITER AND THE THUNDERBOLTS. + + + Jove, viewing from on high our faults, + Said, one day, in Cerulean vaults, + "Let us 'plenish the earth + With a race of new guests; + For those of Noah's birth + Quite weary me out with their endless requests. + Fly to hell, Mercury! + And bring unto me + The Fury most fierce and most grim of the three! + For that race that I've cherished + Will all soon have perished!" + Thus passionate Jupiter spoke, + But quickly from anger awoke. + And so, let me warn you, O Kings! + Of whom Jupiter makes the mere strings, + To rule and to guide as you will; + For a brief moment pause, + To examine the cause, + Ere you torture your subjects, or kill. + The god with light feet, + And whose tongue's honey sweet, + Went, as ordered, to visit the Fates. + Tisiphone looked at, + Megæra then mocked at; + And, after inspection, + Fixed his choice, of all persons, on ugly Alecton. + Rendered proud by this choice, + With a horrible voice, + The goddess declared, + In the caverns of Death, + That she'd stop all men's breath, + And not one live thing on the earth should be spared. + + Unto Mercy's straight path + Jove came back from his wrath, + Annulled the Eumenide's oath; + Nothing loath. + Yet his thunders he threw + At the vile mortal crew; + And one might have thought + That destruction were wrought; + But the fact was just this-- + The bolts managed to miss. + For the Thund'rer's pride + With our fear's satisfied. + He was father of men, + And so he knew when, + As papas mortal know too, + What distance to throw to. + But, with mercy thus treated, + Man, with wickedness heated, + Grew so vicious, at last, + That Jove swore he would cast + And crush our weak race, + Their Creator's disgrace. + But yet he still smiled; + For a father his child + Strikes with merciful hand. + So at last it was planned + That god Vulcan should have + The duty of sending us men to the grave. + With bolts of two sorts + Vulcan fills his black courts; + And of these two there's one + That Heaven throws straight, + When it fills up its hate, + And the thread of a man's life is done. + The other falls only + On mountain tops lonely; + And this kind alone + By great Jupiter's thrown. + + + + + FABLE CLXVI. + + + THE FALCON AND THE CAPON. + + + A treacherous voice will sometimes call; + Hear it, but trust it not at all. + Not meaningless the thing I tell, + But like the clog of Jean Nivelle. + A citizen of Mons, by trade, + A Capon, one day, was dismayed, + Being summoned, very suddenly, + Before his master's Lares; he + Disliked that tribunal, the spit + (It was a fowl of ready wit). + Yet all the folks, their scheme to hide, + "Coop, coop, coop, coop," so softly cried. + "Your servant; your gross bait is vain; + You won't catch me, I say again." + All this a Falcon saw, perplexed: + What had the silly creature vexed? + Instinct, experience, or no, + Fowls have no faith in us, I know; + And this one, caught with endless trouble, + To-morrow in a pot would bubble, + Or in a stately dish repose-- + Small honour, as the Capon knows. + The Falcon the poor creature blamed; + "I am astonished! I'm ashamed! + You scum! you <i>canaille!</i> how you act! + You're half an idiot, that's a fact. + I come back to my master's fist, + And hunt for him whate'er he list. + Why, see, he's at the window, there; + You're deaf; he's calling, I declare." + "I know too well," the Fowl replied, + Not caring for the Falcon's pride: + "What does he want to say to me? + The cook has got his knife, I see. + Would <i>you</i> attend to such a bait? + Now, let me fly, or I'm too late; + So, cease to mock. Nay, now, good master, + That wheedling voice portends disaster! + Had you seen at the friendly hearth + As many Falcons of good birth + As I've seen Capons put to roast, + You'd not reproach me with vain boast." + + + + + FABLE CLXVII. + + + THE TWO PIGEONS. + + + Two Pigeons once, as brother [brother], + With true affection loved each other; + But one of them, foolishly, tired of home, + Resolved to distant lands to roam. + Then the other one said, with piteous tear, + "What! brother, and would you then leave me here? + Of all the ills that on earth we share, + Absence from loved ones is bitterest woe! + And if to your heart this feeling's strange, + Let the dangers of travel your purpose change, + And, oh, at least for the spring-tide wait! + I heard a crow, on a neighbouring tree, + + + [Illustration: THE TWO PIGEONS.] + + + Just now, predicting an awful fate + For some wretched bird; and I foresee + Falcons and snares awaiting thee. + What more can you want than what you've got-- + A friend, a good dwelling, and wholesome cot?" + The other, by these pleadings shaken, + Almost had his whim forsaken; + But still, by restless ardour swayed, + Soon, in soothing tones, he said-- + "Weep not, brother, I'll not stay + But for three short days away; + And then, quite satisfied, returning, + Impart to you my travelled learning. + Who stays at home has nought to say; + But I will have such things to tell,-- + 'Twas there I went,'--'It thus befel,'-- + That you will think that you have been + In every action, every scene." + Thus having said, he bade adieu, + And forth on eager pinion flew; + But ere a dozen miles were past, + The skies with clouds grew overcast; + All drenched with rain, the Pigeon sought + A tree, whose shelter was but nought; + And when, at length, the rain was o'er, + His draggled wings could scarcely soar. + Soon after this, a field espying, + Whereon some grains of corn were lying, + He saw another Pigeon there, + And straight resolved to have his share. + So down he flies, and finds, too late, + The treacherous corn is only there + To tempt poor birds to hapless fate. + As the net was torn and old, however, + With beak, and claw, and fluttering wing, + And by despairs supreme endeavour, + He quickly broke string after string; + And, with the loss of half his plumes, + Joyous, his flight once more resumes. + But cruel fate had yet in store + A sadder evil than before; + For, as our Pigeon slowly flew, + And bits of net behind him drew, + Like felon, just from prison 'scaped, + A hawk his course towards him shaped. + And now the Pigeon's life were ended, + But that, just then, with wings extended, + An eagle on the hawk descended. + Leaving the thieves to fight it out, + With beak and talon, helter-skelter, + The Pigeon 'neath a wall takes shelter; + And now believes, without a doubt, + That for the present time released, + The series of his woes has ceased. + But, lo! a cruel boy of ten + (That age knows not compassion's name), + Whirling his sling, with deadly aim, + Half kills the hapless bird, who then, + With splintered wing, half dead, and lame, + His zeal for travel deeply cursing, + Goes home to seek his brother's nursing. + By hook or by crook he hobbled along, + And arrived at home without further wrong. + Then, united once more, and safe from blows, + The brothers forgot their recent woes. + + Oh, lover, happy lovers! never separate, I say, + But by the nearest rivulet your wandering footsteps stay. + Let each unto the other be a world that's ever fair, + Ever varied in its aspects, ever young and debonair. + Let each be dear to each, and as nothing count the rest. + I myself have sometimes been by a lover's ardour blest, + And then I'd not have changed for any palace here below, + Or for all that in the heavens in lustrous splendour glow, + The woods, and lanes, and fields, which were lightened by + the eyes, + Which were gladdened by the feet of that shepherdess so + fair,-- + So sweet, and good, and young, to whom, bound by Cupid's + ties,-- + Fast bound, I thought, for ever, I first breathed my oaths + in air. + Alas! shall such sweet moments be never more for me? + Shall my restless soul no more on earth such tender objects + see? + Oh, if I dared to venture on the lover's path again, + Should I still find sweet contentment in Cupid's broad domain? + Or is my heart grown torpid?--are my aspirations vain? + + + + + FABLE CLXVIII. + + + EDUCATION. + + + Cæsar and Laridon, his brother, + Both suckled by the same dear mother, + Sprang from an ancient royal race; + Right hardy in the toiling chase. + Two masters shared the noble brood; + And one the kitchen, one the wood + Made his home. Yet still the same, + They both kept their former name. + Place and custom altered them + In their nature, not in limb. + The one dog purchased by the cook, + Laridon for title took. + His brother to renown soon soars, + Slays by dozens stags and boars. + Soon as Cæsar he was known, + And as wonderful was shown. + But for Laridon none cared, + Or his children--how they fared. + So the Turnspits spread through France-- + Vulgar dogs, that toil or dance: + Timid creatures, as one sees + Cæsar's true antipodes. + + Time, neglect, and luckless fate + Make a race degenerate; + Wise men's sons turn simpletons; + Cæsars become Laridons. + + + [Illustration: THE MADMAN WHO SOLD WISDOM.] + + + + + FABLE CLXIX. + + + THE MADMAN WHO SOLD WISDOM. + + + Never get in a Madman's reach: + Ye wise men, listen to my speech. + It's my advice--or right or wrong-- + To flee from such crazed folk headlong; + In courts you often see them stalk, + The prince smiles at them in his walk; + To rogue and fool, and the buffoon, + They serve for jokes from morn to noon.-- + A Madman once, in market-place, + Said he sold Wisdom. The dolts race + To buy the treasure. What fun is his, + Watching the silly people's phizzes, + When for their money they obtain + A blow that gives their red ears pain, + And forty yards of common thread. + Some were indignant; they, instead + Of pity, only mockery got. + The best way was to bear one's lot, + And walk off laughing; or else go + Home, and not talk about the blow. + To ask the meaning of all this + Was to secure a wise man's hiss; + There is no reason in such folks. + 'Tis chance begets such crazy jokes, + And yet the thread it was mysterious. + One of the dupes who took it serious + Went to consult a sage he knew, + Who replied thus at the first view:-- + "These hieroglyphics I can see; + People of sense infallibly + Between themselves and madmen place + At least some fathoms of this lace; + Or else they will a buffet gain, + And never much redress obtain. + You are not gulled; a crazy fool + Has sold you wisdom from his school." + + + + + FABLE CLXX. + + + THE CAT AND THE RAT. + + + Four animals, of natures various, + Living lives the most precarious, + Together dwelt, and yet apart, + Close to, and e'en within the heart + Of a most ancient pine. + The one was Master Cat, who claws; + Another, Master Rat, who gnaws; + The Weasel third, with waist so fine, + And of a very ancient line. + The fourth was sapient Master Owl, + Whose midnight hoot disturbs the ghoul. + One night, a man about their tree + A snare disposed with secresy; + And Master Cat, at early dawn, + From couch with hope of plunder drawn, + Scarce half awake, fell plump within + The cruelly-invented gin. + Such caterwauling then arose, + That Master Gnaw-cheese hurried round + To see, in fetters safely bound, + The deadliest of his special foes. + Then Master Purrer softly cried, + "Sir Rat, your true benevolence + Is known in all the country wide; + So pray, for pity, take me hence + From this atrocious, strangling snare + In which I've fallen, unaware; + 'Tis strange, but true, that you alone, + Of all the Rats I've ever known, + Have won my heart, and, thank the skies! + I've loved you more than both my eyes. + [']Twas just as I was on my way, + As all devout ones should, to pray, + At early dawn, that I was pent + Within this cursed instrument. + My life is in your hands, my friend; + Pray, with your tooth these, shackles rend." + But curtly then replied the Rat, + "Pray, say what I should gain by that?" + "My friendship true, for evermore," + The Cat replied. "These talons grim + Shall be your guard; the Owl no more + Should watch your nest; the Weasel slim + Shall never make of you his meat." + "Not such a fool," replied the Rat, + "Am I as to release a Cat!" + And forthwith sought his snug retreat; + But near the narrow hole he sought + The Weasel watched, perhaps meaning nought. + Still further upward climbed the Rat, + To where the great Owl grimly sat; + At last, by dangers menaced round, + Sir Gnaw-cheese once more seeks the ground, + And, working hard with practised grinder, + Relieves poor Puss from cords that bind her. + The task is just completed, + When the ruthless man appears, + And, overwhelmed with equal fears, + The new allies by different paths retreated. + Soon after this adventure + The Cat beheld, one sunny day, + Snug in a place from cats secure, + His friend the Rat, and said, "I pray, + Come, let's embrace, we are friends again. + It gives me, on my word, true pain + To think that one to whom I owe + My life should deem me still his foe!" + "And do you think," replied the Rat, + "That I am ignorant of a Cat? + I know within your bosom lies + The germ of all hypocrisies." + + To trust to friendships that rogues feign + Is leaning on a straw, 'tis plain. + + + + + FABLE CLXXI. + + + DEMOCRITUS AND THE ABDERANIANS. + + + How I the base and vulgar hate: + Profane, unjust, and obstinate! + So ever prone, with lip and eye, + To turn the truth to calumny! + + The master of great Epicurus + Suffered from this rabble once; + Which shows e'en learning can't secure us + From the malice of the dunce. + By all the people of his town + Was cried, "Democritus is mad!" + But in his own land, well 'tis known, + No prophet credit ever had. + The truth within a nutshell lies: + His friends were fools,--and he was wise. + The error spread to such extent, + That, at length, a deputation, + With letters from Abdera's nation, + To famed Hippocrates was sent, + With humble, earnest hope that he + For madness might find remedy. + "Our fellow-townsman," weeping said + The deputation, "lost his head + Through too much reading. Would that he + Had only read as much as we! + To know how truly he insane is, + He says, for instance, nought more plain is, + Than that this earth is only one + Of million others round the sun; + And all these shining worlds are full + Of people, wise as well as dull. + And, not content with dreaming thus, + With theories strange he puzzles us; + Asserting that his brain consists + Of some queer kind of airy mists. + And, more than this, he says, that though + He measures stars from earth below, + What he himself is he don't know! + Long since, in friendly conversation, + He was the wit of all the nation; + But now alone he'll talk and mumble: + So, great physician, if you can, + Pray come and cure this poor old man." + Hippocrates, by all this jumble, + Was not deceived, but still he went;-- + And here we see how accident + Can bring such meetings 'tween ourselves + As scarce could managed be by elves. + Hippocrates arrived, to find + That he whom all men called a fool + Was sage, and wise, and calm, and cool,-- + Still searching for the innate mind + In heart and brain of beast and man. + Retired beneath a leafy grove, + Through which a murmuring brooklet ran, + The sage, with patient ardour, strove + The labyrinths of a skull to scan. + Beside him lay full many a scroll + By ancients written; and his soul + Was wrapt in learned thought so wholly, + That scarce he saw his friend advance: + Their greeting was but just a glance;-- + For sages right well know the folly + Of idle compliment and word. + So, throwing off all forms absurd, + They spoke, in language large and free, + Of man, his soul and destiny; + And then discussed the secret springs + Which move all bad or holy things. + But 'tis not meet that I rehearse + Such weighty words in humble verse. + + From this short story we may see + How much at fault the mob may be; + And this being so, pray tell me why + Some venture to proclaim aloud + That in the clamour of the crowd + We hear the voice of Deity? + + + [Illustration: THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS.] + + + + + FABLE CLXXII. + + + THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS. + + + Two travellers discovered on the beach + An Oyster, carried thither by the sea. + 'Twas eyed with equal greediness by each; + Then came the question whose was it to be. + One, stooping down to pounce upon the prize, + Was thrust away before his hand could snatch it. + "Not quite so quickly," his companion cries; + "If <i>you've</i> a claim here, <i>I've</i> a claim to match it; + The first that saw it has the better right + To its possession; come, you can't deny it." + "Well," said his friend, "my orbs are pretty bright, + And <i>I</i>, upon my life, was first to spy it." + "You? Not at all; or, if you <i>did</i> perceive it, + I <i>smelt</i> it long before it was in view; + But here's a lawyer coming--let us leave it + To him to arbitrate between the two." + The lawyer listens with a stolid face, + Arrives at his decision in a minute; + And, as the shortest way to end the case, + Opens the shell and cats the fish within it. + The rivals look upon him with dismay:-- + "This Court," says he, "awards you each a shell; + You've neither of you any costs to pay, + And so be happy. Go in peace. Farewell!" + + How often, when causes to trial are brought, + Does the lawyer get pelf and the client get naught! + The former will pocket his fees with a sneer, + While the latter sneaks off with a flea in his ear. + + + + + FABLE CLXXIII. + + + THE FRAUDULENT TRUSTEE. + + + Animals I've sung in verse, + Memory's daughters aiding; + Perhaps I should have done far worse, + In other heroes trading. + In my book the dogs sit down + With wolves in conversation; + And beasts dressed up in vest and gown, + All sorts, of every nation, + Reflect each kind of folly duly, + My verse interprets them so truly. + Fools there are, and wise there are, + But my heroes I can't flatter; + For 'tis certain that, by far, + The former ones exceed the latter. + Swindlers I have painted often-- + Brutes whom kindness cannot soften; + Tyrants, flatterers, and the crew + Who take your gifts, then bite at you. + In my pages you'll find many + Examples of the utter zany; + But chiefly have I had to do + With those who say what is not true. + The ancient wise man cried aloud, + "All men are liars!" Had he stated + This fact but of the wretched crowd, + E'en then I should have hesitated; + But that we mortals, great and small, + Both good and bad, are liars all, + I should deny at once, of course, + Did I not know the maxim's source. + But he who lies as Æsop lies, + Or, to go a little higher, + As old Homer, is no liar; + For the charming dreams we prize, + With which they have enriched the world, + Are brightest truths in fiction furled. + The works of such should live for ever; + And he who lies like them lies never. + But he who should attempt to lie + As a Fraudulent Trustee did, + A liar is, most certainly, + And should suffer for't as he did. + The story tells us + That, proposing + To journey into foreign lands, + A merchant, in the Persian trade-- + In friends all confidence reposing-- + Agreement with a neighbour made, + To leave some iron in his hands. + "My metal?" said he, coming back. + "Your metal! 'tis all gone, alack! + A rat has eaten up the lot! + I've scolded all my slaves, God wot! + But, in spite of all control, + A granary floor <i>will</i> have a hole." + The merchant opened well his eyes, + And never hinted aught of lies; + But soon he stole his neighbour's child, + And then he asked the rogue to dine. + To which the other answered, wild + With anguish, "Sir, I must decline-- + I loved a child--I have but one-- + <i>I have!</i> What say I? I have none, + For he is stolen!" Then replies + The Merchant, "With my own two eyes, + On yester eve, at close of day, + I saw your offspring borne away, + With many a struggle, many a howl, + To an old ruin, by an owl." + "An owl," the father cried, "convey + To such a height so big a prey! + My son could kill a dozen such; + For my belief this is too much!" + "I do not that deny," replies + His friend, "yet saw it with these eyes; + And wherefore should you think it strange + That in a land where rats can steal + A ton of iron from a grange, + An owl should seize a boy of ten, + Fly with him to his lofty den. + And of him make a hearty meal?" + The Fraudulent Trustee perceived + Which way the artful story tended, + Gave back the goods, the man received + His child, and so the matter ended. + + Between two Travellers, on their road, + Dispute arose, in a strange mode:-- + The one a story-teller, such + As oft are met with, who can't touch + On any great or trivial topic, + Without the use--that is, abuse-- + Of lenses microscopic. + With them all objects are gigantic, + Small ponds grow huge as the Atlantic. + The present instance said he "knew + A cabbage once that grew so tall, + It topped a lofty garden wall." + "I'm sure," replied his friend, "'tis true, + For I myself a pot have met, + Within which no large church could get." + The first one such a pot derided: + "Softly, my friend," rejoined the second; + "You quite without your host have reckoned; + To boil your cabbage was my pot provided!" + + The man of the monstrous pot was a wag, + The man of the iron adroit; + And if ever you meet with a man who'll brag, + Never attempt to stint him a doit, + But match his long bow with your strong bow. + + + + + FABLE CLXXIV. + + + JUPITER AND THE TRAVELLER. + + + The gods our perils would make wealthy, + If we our vows remembered, when once made. + But, dangers passed, and we, all safe and healthy, + Forget the promises on altars laid; + We only think of what we owe to men. + Jove, says the atheist, is a creditor + Who never sends out bailiffs; if so, then + What is the thunder meant as warning for? + A Passenger, in tempest tossed and rolled, + To Jupiter a hundred oxen offered. + He hadn't one; had he been only bold, + A hundred elephants he would have proffered: + They'd cost him not a single farthing more. + Suddenly mounted unto great Jove's nose + The scent of beef bones burnt upon the shore. + "Accept my promised vow," the rascal crows; + "'Tis ox you smell: the smoke is all for thee: + Now we are quits." Jove smiled a bitter smile; + But, some days after, sent a dream, to be + The recompense of that man's wicked guile. + The dream informed him where a treasure lay: + The man ran to it, like a moth to flame. + Some robbers seized him. Having nought to pay, + He promised them at once, if they but came + Where he'd a hundred talents of good gold. + The place, far off, pleased not the wary thieves; + And one man said, "My comrade, I am told + You mock us; and he dies, whoe'er deceives. + Go and take Pluto, for an offering, + Your hundred talents: they will please the king." + + + [Illustration: JUPITER AND THE TRAVELLER.] + + + + + FABLE CLXXV. + + + THE APE AND THE LEOPARD. + + + An Ape and a Leopard one day repair-- + Money to gain--to a country fair, + And setting up separate booths they vie, + Each with each, in the arts of cajolery. + "Come, see me," cries Leopard, "come, gentlemen come, + The price of admission's a very small sum; + To the great in all places my fame is well known, + And should death overtake me, the king on his throne + Would be glad of a robe from my skin; + For 'tis mottled and wattled, + And stained and ingrained + With spots and with lines, lines and spots thick and thin, + That truly, though modest, I can but declare, + 'Tis by far the most wonderful thing in the fair." + This bounce attained its end, and so + The gulls came hurrying to the show; + But, the sight seen, and the cash spent, + They went away in discontent. + Meanwhile the Ape cries--"Come, and see + The sum of versatility! + Yon Leopard boasts, through thick and thin, + A splendid show of outside skin; + But many varied gifts I have + (For which your kind applause I crave) + All safely lodged my brain within. + Your servant I, Monsieur Guffaw, + The noble Bertrand's son-in-law, + Chief monkey to his Holiness + The Pope. I now have come express, + In three huge ships, to have with you + The honour of an interview: + For speaking is my special forte, + And I can dance, and hoops jump through, + And other kinds of tumbling do, + And magic feats perform of every sort; + And for six blancos? no, I say, a sou; + But if with the performance you + Are discontented, at the door + To each his money we'll restore." + And right was the Ape: + For the colour and shape + Of fine clothes can but please for awhile, + Whilst the charms of a brain + That is witty, remain, + And for ever can soothe and beguile. + Ah! there's many a one, + Lord and gentleman's son, + Who holds high estate here below, + Who to Leopards akin + Has nought but fine skin + As the sum of his merits to show. + + + + + FABLE CLXXVI. + + + THE ACORN AND THE GOURD. + + + All that Jove does is wise and good, + I need not travel far abroad + To make this maxim understood, + But take example from a Gourd. + + Observing once a pumpkin, + Of bulk so huge on stem so small, + "What meant he," cried a bumpkin, + "Great Jove, I mean, who made us all, + By such an act capricious? + If my advice were asked by Heaven, + To yonder oaks the gourds were given, + And 'twould have been judicious; + For sure it is good taste to suit + To monstrous trees a monstrous fruit. + And truly, Tony, had but he + Whom the priests talk of asked of me + Advice on here and there a point, + Things would not be so out of joint. + For why, to take this plain example, + Should not the Acorn here be hung-- + For it this tiny stem is ample-- + Whilst on the oak the pumpkin swung? + The more I view this sad abortion + Of all the laws of true proportion, + The more I'm sure the Lord of Thunder + Has made a very serious blunder." + Teased by this matter, Tony cries, + "One soon grows weary when one's wise;" + Then dozing 'neath an oak he lies. + Now, as he slept, an Acorn fell + Straight on his nose, and made it swell. + At once awake, he seeks to trace + With eager hand what hurt his face, + And in his beard the Acorn caught, + Discovers what the pain had wrought. + And now, by injured nose induced, + Our friend takes up a different tone-- + "I bleed, I bleed!" he makes his moan, + "And all is by this thing produced: + But, oh! if from the tree, instead, + A full-grown Gourd had struck my head! + Ah! Jove, most wise, has made decree + That Acorns only deck the tree, + And now I quite the reason see." + + Thus in a better frame of mind + Homeward went our honest hind. + + + + + FABLE CLXXVII. + + + THE SCHOOL-BOY, THE PEDANT, AND THE NURSERY GARDENER. + + + A certain Boy, half-spoiled at school-- + Your Pedants spoil lads, as a rule; + Ten times a fool, ten times a rogue + They'd made this mischievous young dog.-- + A neighbour's flowers and fruits he stole: + A man who struggled, heart and soul, + To raise Pomona's choicest treasure: + In what was bad he had no pleasure. + Each season did its tribute bring, + And Flora's gifts were his in spring. + One day he saw upon a tree + The boy climb up, and recklessly + Spoil half the buds, the promise dear + Of future plenty for the year;-- + He even broke the boughs. At last + The Gardener to the school ran fast. + The Master came, with all his train + Of lads. "Of what does he complain?" + The orchard's full of dreadful boys, + Worse than the first, in tricks and noise. + The Pedant, though he meant not to, + Made the first evil double grow. + The Pedant was so eloquent + About the sin and ill intent; + It was a lesson not forgot + By the whole school, an ill-taught lot; + He often cites the Mantuan bard; + At rhetoric toils hot and hard. + So long his speech, the wicked race + Had time enough to spoil the place. + + I hate your misplaced eloquence, + Endless, ill-timed, and without sense; + And no fool I detest so bad + As an ill-taught and thievish lad, + Except his Master; yet the best + Of these is a bad neighbour, 'tis confessed. + + + + + FABLE CLXXVIII. + + + THE CAT AND THE FOX. + + + The Fox and Cat, two saints indeed, + To make a pilgrimage agreed: + Two artful hypocrites they were,-- + Soft-footed, sly, and smooth, and fair. + Full many a fowl, and many a cheese, + Made up for loss of time and ease. + The road was long, and weary too: + To shorten it, to talk they flew. + For argument drives sleep away, + And helps a journey on, they say. + The Fox to the Cat says, "My friend, + + + [Illustration: THE CAT AND THE FOX.] + + + To be so clever you pretend; + Say what am I? I've in this sack + A hundred tricks." "Well, on my back," + The other, very timid, said, + "I've only one, I'm quite afraid; + But that, I hold, is worth a dozen, + My enemies to cheat and cozen." + Then the dispute began anew, + With "So say I!" and "I tell you!" + Till, suddenly, some hounds in sight + Silenced them soon, as it well might. + The Cat cries, "Search your bag, my friend, + Or you are lost, you may depend: + Choose out your choicest stratagem!" + Puss climbed a tree, and baffled them. + The Fox a hundred burrows sought: + Turned, dodged, and doubled, as he thought, + To put the terriers at fault, + And shun their rough and rude assault. + In every place he tried for shelter, + But begged it vainly; helter skelter, + The hounds were on the treacherous scent, + That still betrayed, where'er he went. + At last, as from a hole he started, + Two swift dogs on poor Reynard darted; + Then came up all the yelping crew, + And at his throat at once they flew. + + Too many schemes spoil everything, + We lose our time in settling. + Have only one, as wise man should: + But let that one be sound and good. + + + + + FABLE CLXXIX. + + + THE SCULPTOR AND THE STATUE OF JUPITER. + + + A Block of marble shone so white, + A Sculptor bought it, and, that night, + Said, "Now, my chisel, let's decree: + God, tank, or table, shall it be? + + "We 'll have a god--the dream I clasp; + His hand a thunderbolt shall grasp. + Tremble, ye monarchs, ere it's hurled! + Behold the master of the world!" + + So well the patient workman wrought + In stone the vision of his thought, + The people cried at last, "Beseech + The gods to grant it power of speech!" + + Some even dared the crowd to tell + That, when the chisel's last blow fell, + The Sculptor was the first with dread + To turn away his trembling head. + + The ancient poet's not to blame, + For weak man's terror, fear, and shame + The gods invented in each age, + Abhorring human hate and rage. + + The sculptor was a child; confess, + His mind, like children's in distress, + Tormented by this ceaseless sorrow, + His doll might angry be to-morrow. + + The heart obeys its guide, the mind: + And from this source there flows, we find, + This Pagan error, which we see + Widen to all infinity. + + We all embrace some favourite dream, + And follow it down flood and stream. + Pygmalion was in love, 'tis said, + With Venus that himself had made. + + Each turns his dream into a truth, + And tries to fancy it all sooth. + Ice to the facts before his face, + But burning falsehood to embrace. + + + + + FABLE CLXXX. + + + THE MOUSE METAMORPHOSED INTO A GIRL. + + + A Mouse from the beak of an owl fell down, + A Brahmin lifted it up, half dead: + Tenderly nursed it, and tamed it, and fed. + I could not have done such an act, I own; + But every land has its own conceit: + With a Mouse I'd rather not sit at meat. + But Brahmins regard a flea as a friend, + For they think that the soul of a king may descend + To some beast, or insect, or dog, or mite,-- + Pythagoras taught them this law erudite. + Thus believing, the Brahmin a sorcerer prayed + That the Mouse might resume some more elegant dress. + The wise man consented, and, truth to confess, + Performed his task well, for the Mouse became Maid,-- + Ah! a Maid of fifteen--such an elegant creature, + Of a form so genteel, of such exquisite feature, + That if Paris had met her, that amorous boy + Would have risked, to possess her, full many a Troy. + Surprised at the sight of a being so fair, + The Brahmin said, "Darling, you've but to declare + Whom you'll have for a husband, for none will refuse + Such a beautiful bride;--you have only to choose." + Then the Maiden replied, "I confess that I long + For a husband that's valiant, and noble, and strong." + Then the Brahmin knelt down, and addressing the Sun, + Cried, "Noblest of living things, you are the one!" + But the Lord of the Daylight replied, "'Tis not true + That I am so strong; for the Cloud you see yonder, + Piled high with the rain, and the hail, and the thunder, + Could hide me at once, if he chose, from your view." + To the Cloud, then, appealing, the Brahmin declared + That with him, Lord of Storms, his child's fate should + be shared. + "No, No!" said the dark Cloud; "it never can be, + For at each breath of wind I am driven to flee. + If you'd have for a son-in-law somebody strong, + Your Maid to the North Wind should fairly belong." + Disgusted with constant refusals like these, + The Brahmin appealed to the wild, roving Breeze; + And the Breeze was quite willing to wed the fair Maid, + But a Mountain Top huge his love's pilgrimage stayed. + The ball, at this game of "a lover to find," + Now passed to the Hill, but he quickly declined; + "For," said he, "with the Rat I'm not friends, and, I know, + If I took the fair Maid, he would gnaw at me so." + At the mention of Rat, the fair Maiden, with glee, + Cried, "'Tis Rat, and Rat only, my husband shall be!" + See a Girl for a Rat now Apollo forsaking! + It was one of those strokes which Love glories in making. + And, 'twixt you and me, such strange instances are, + 'Mongst girls that we know of, more frequent than rare. + + With men and with beasts it is ever the same: + They still show the trace of the place whence they came; + And this fable may aid us to prove it; but yet, + On a nearer inspection, some sophistry's met + In its traits; for, to trust to this fanciful story, + Any spouse were more good than the Sun in his glory. + + But, what! shall I say that a giant is less + Than a flea, because fleas can a giant distress? + The Rat, if this rule must be strictly obeyed, + Of his wife to the Cat would a present have made: + And the Cat to the Dog, and the Dog to the Bear; + Till, at length, by a sort of a high-winding stair, + The story had brought us where first 'twas begun, + And the beautiful Maid would have married the Sun. + + But let us return to the Metempsychosis + The truth of which, firstly, this fable supposes. + It seems to me plain that the fable itself + The system decidedly puts on the shelf. + According to Brahmin law, animals all + That inhabit the earth, be they mighty or small,-- + Be they men, mice, or wolves, or e'en creatures more coarse,-- + Their souls have derived from one general source; + And vary, in physical actions, just so + As the form of their organs may force them to do. + And if this be the case, then, how came it that one + Of so fine-formed a frame did not wed with the Sun? + Whereas, as we know, to a Rat she devoted + The charms on which many a king would have doated. + + All things considered, I'll declare + That girl and mouse souls different are. + We must our destiny fulfil, + As ordered by the sovereign will. + Appeal to magic,--it is all in vain; + The soul, once born, will still the same remain. + + + [Illustration: THE MONKEY AND THE CAT.] + + + + + FABLE CLXXXI. + + + THE MONKEY AND THE CAT. + + + Bertrand and Raton--a Monkey and Cat-- + Were messmates in mischief, with roguery fat; + There was nothing they feared, there was nothing they spared, + And whatever they plundered they usually shared. + If anything close by was stealable, they + Would never go foraging out of their way. + Bertrand stole everything Raton to please, + And Raton cared less for the mice than the cheese. + One day at the fire, when all clear was the coast, + The pair were both spying some chesnuts at roast: + To steal a good meal is its pleasure to double; + Besides, it would bring the cook's man into trouble. + Says Bertrand to Raton, "My brother, you see, + Fate's given a moment of glory to thee; + Get those chesnuts, and quickly, my brave one, I pray, + The gods have vouchsafed us a dinner to-day." + And so to snatch chesnuts poor Raton agreed, + And at once set to work on the dangerous deed. + With gingerly touch he the cinders withdrew, + And snatched the hot prizes, first one, and then two. + He has pilfered quite half, but has not eaten one; + The eating his comrade, Bertrand, has done. + A scullion comes--there's adieu to the theft-- + And Raton is empty and querulous left. + + Your nobles are much in a similar case, + Who as flatterers dangerous service embrace; + And to gratify kings, fingers often will burn, + Then homeward, though wiser, still poorer return. + + + + + FABLE CLXXXII. + + + THE WOLF AND THE STARVED DOG. + + + Once on a time, a little Carp to man + Preached all in vain; they put him in the pan. + And I repeat, 'tis foolish to let slip + The glass that's full, and half way to the lip, + In hopes of better wine. The fish was wrong; + The fisherman was right, his reason strong. + One speaks out boldly when a life's to save; + It needs some eloquence King Death to waive; + But still I hold I'm right, and don't demur, + If from my former text I do not stir. + A Wolf, less wise than our good fisherman, + Meeting a Dog outside the village, ran + To bear him off. The poor Dog pleaded hard + That he was thin, and not worth his regard. + "My lord, I shall not please you, that is pat; + Wait till the marriage, I shall then grow fat + And quite myself--when master's daughter's wed." + The Wolf believed all that the terrier said. + The day expired; he came with faith to see + If good had come from this festivity. + To Wolf without the Dog spoke through the gate: + "Friend, I am coming, if you'll only wait; + The porter of our lodge is coming, too, + We'll soon be ready, sir, to wait on you." + The porter was a mastiff, you must know, + Ready to crunch up wolves, and at one blow. + The caller paused: "Your servant I remain," + He said, and ran and sought the wood again; + Swift, but not clever: the remark was made, + "This Wolf was not a master of his trade." + + + + + FABLE CLXXXIII. + + + THE WAX CANDLE. + + + From heaven the Bees came down, they say, + And on Hymettus' top, one day, + Settled, and from sweet Zephyr's flowers + Stole all the treasures and strange powers; + And when th' ambrosia from each field, + Long in their store-rooms close concealed, + Was, to speak simple French, all taken, + And the mere empty comb forsaken, + Many Wax Tapers, from it made, + Were sold by those to whom that trade + Belongs. One of these Candles, long and thick, + Seeing clay hardened into brick + By fire, made to endure for aye, + Like an Empedocles, to die, + Resolved to perish in the flame. + A foolish martyr, seeking fame, + He leaped in headlong. Reasoning vain: + Small wisdom in his empty brain. + No human being's like another: + One cannot argue from one's brother. + Empedocles burnt up like paper; + Yet wasn't madder than this Taper. + + + + + FABLE CLXXXIV. + + + "NOT TOO MUCH." + + + I Find in no one race or nation + Of men what I call moderation; + Both animals and plants do err + In this respect, I must aver. + Nature's great Master wished that we + Should guard the golden mean, you see; + But do we?--No; and once more, No! + Whether to good or ill we go. + The corn that Ceres from her hand + Spreads lavish o'er the fertile land, + Too richly grows, and drains the ground, + Luxuriant, and without a bound; + So that from rank and crowded grain + All nourishment the deep roots drain; + The trees spread likewise heedlessly + To check the corn. God graciously + Gives us the sheep to check ill growth; + Amid the corn they, nothing loath, + Plunge headlong, and so, ruthless, spoil + The slow result of peasants' toil. + Then Heaven sends the wolf to thin + The sheep--they gobble kith and kin-- + If they spare one 'tis not their fault, + They're but too ready to assault; + Then man the speedy punishment + Unto the cruel wolves is sent. + Next man--far worst of all abuses-- + The power Divine he rashly uses. + Man, of all animals yet known, + Is more disposed to this, I own; + Little or great, unto excess + We carry all things, I confess; + No soul that lives but errs, I see, + In this respect continually, + The good text, "Not too much," is met + Often, but never practised yet. + + + + + FABLE CLXXXV. + + + THE TWO RATS, THE FOX, AND THE EGG. + + TO MADAME DE LA SABLIÈRE. + + + Iris, it were easy, quite, + Verses in your praise to write, + Were't not that, scornful, you refuse + The plaintive homage of my muse, + In that unlike your sisters fair, + Who any weight of praise can bear: + Most women doat on flattery's lies, + Nor are they, on this point, unwise; + For, if it be a crime, 'tis one + That gods and monarchs fail to shun. + That nectar which, the poets say, + Is quaffed by him who holds the sway + O'er thunders, and which kings on earth + Get drunk on, from their earliest birth, + Is flattery, Iris, flattery--such + As you 'll not even deign to touch. + No, Iris! you have rich resources + In genuine wit, and wise discourses,-- + Sometimes half earnest, sometimes gay; + The world believes it not, they say: + Let the poor world think what it may. + In conversation, I maintain + That truth and jokes are equal gain. + Pure science well may be the stay + Of friendly converse; but the ray + Of mirth should, ever and anon, + Electric, light friends' union. + Discourse, when rightly comprehended, + Is with a thousand graces blended, + And much resembles gardens sweet, + Where Flora's various beauties meet; + And where the bees search every bloom, + And from each bush bring honey home. + Allowing this to be so, let + Some theories in my tales be met: + Theories philosophic, new, + Engaging, subtle; have not you + Heard speak of them? Their holders say + That animals are mere machines, + And move but by mechanic means; + That, move or gambol as they may, + They move but blindly, have no soul, + No feeling heart, no self-control; + But are like watches, which, set going, + Work on, without their object knowing. + If we should open one of these, + What is't the eye within them sees? + A score of tiny wheels we find; + The first is moved, then, close behind, + A second follows, then a third, + And so on, till the hour is heard. + To hark to these philosophers, + The heart is such; some object stirs + A certain nerve, and straight, again, + A fellow-nerve endures the strain; + And so on, till the sense it reaches, + And some deep vital lesson teaches. + "But how's it done?" These theorists cry, + 'Tis done by pure necessity; + That neither will nor even passion + Assist in it, in any fashion. + That, moved by some inherent force, + The beast is sent to run the course + Of love and grief, joy, pain, and hate, + Or any other varied state. + A watch may be a watch, and go, + Compelled by springs; but 'tis not so + With us;--and here 'twere wise to ask + Descartes to aid us in our task,-- + Descartes, who, in the times of eld, + Had for a deity been held; + And who, between mere men and spirits, + Holds such a place, by special merits, + As 'twixt man and oyster has + That patient animal, the ass. + He reasons thus, and boldly says, + "Of all the animals that dwell + On this round world, I know, full well, + My brain alone has reason's rays." + Now, Iris, you will recollect, + 'Twas taught us by that older science, + On which we used to have reliance, + That when beasts think, they don't reflect. + Descartes goes farther, and maintains + That beasts are quite devoid of brains. + This you believe with ease, and so + Can I, until to woods I go, + Just when, perchance, some motley crew, + With dogs and horns, a stag pursue. + In vain it doubles, and confounds. + With many a devious turn, the hounds. + + At length this ancient stag of ten, + Discovering all its efforts vain, + And almost wholly worn and spent, + Drives by main force, from covert near, + Athwart the dogs, some younger deer, + To tempt them off, by fresher scent. + What reasoning here the beast displays! + Its backward tracks on beaten ways, + Its numerous schemes its scent to smother, + And skill, at length, to thrust another + + + [Illustration: THE TWO RATS, THE FOX, AND THE EGG.] + + + On danger almost at its feet, + For some great party chief were meet; + And worthy of some better fate + Than death from dogs insatiate. + + 'Tis thus the red-legged partridge, sprung + By pointer, strives to save her young, + As yet unfledged. With piteous cries, + And lagging wing, she feigns to rise, + Runs on, then halts, then hurries on again, + And dog and hunter tempts across the plain; + But when her nest is far enough behind, + She laughs at both, and skims along the wind. + + 'Tis said that beings have been found, + In distant lands, in northern climes, + Who still in ignorance profound + Are steeped, as in primeval times. + But only of the men I speak, + For there four-footed creatures break + The force of streams by dams and ridges, + And join opposing banks by bridges: + Beams morticed well with beams, their toil + Resists the stream's attempt to spoil; + Each labourer with the other vies, + And old ones guide young energies; + Chief engineers the whole survey, + And point out aught that goes astray. + Pluto's well-ordered state could never + Have vied with these amphibians clever. + + In snows they build their houses high, + And pass o'er pools on bridges dry: + Such is their prudence, art, and skill; + Whilst men like us around them, still, + If they, perchance, should have the whim + A distant shore to reach, must swim. + Now, spite of all, this evidence + Convinces me of beavers' sense. + But still, my point to make more clear, + I will a story here relate, + Which but lately met my ear + From lips of one who rules in state: + A king, I mean, and one whose glory + Soars high on wings of victory-- + The Polish prince, whose name alone + Spreads terror round the Turkish throne. + That kings can lie not is well known: + He says, then, that his frontiers wide + Are edged by wilds where beasts reside, + Who warfare wage inveterate, + And to their sons transmit their hate. + "These beasts are fox-like," says the king, + And to their wars such arts they bring, + That neither this nor any age + Has seen men with like skill engage. + All pickets, sentinels, and spies, + With ambuscades and treacheries, + That she who from Styx's entrails came, + And unto heroes gives their fame, + Invented has, for man's perdition, + These beasts employ, with erudition. + To sing their battles we should have + Homer restored us, from the grave; + And, oh! that he who Epicurus + Rivals once more could re-assure us + That, whatever beasts may do, + Is to mechanic means but due; + That all their minds corporeal are; + That building houses, making war, + They are but agents, weak and blind, + Of some mere watchspring in the mind. + The object which their sense attacks, + Returning, fills its former tracks, + And straightway, in their bestial pates, + The image seen before creates, + Without that thought, or sense, or soul + Have o'er the thing the least control. + But men a different station fill, + And, scorning instinct, use their will. + I speak, I walk, and feel within + Something to God-like power akin. + Distinct from all my flesh and bone, + It lives a life that's all its own, + Yet o'er my flesh it rules alone. + But how can soul be understood + By what is merely flesh and blood? + There lies the point. The tool by hand is guided; + Who guides the hand has not yet been decided. + Ah! what is that strange power which wings + The planets on their heavenly way? + Doth each some angel lord obey? + And are my spirit's secret springs + Moved and controlled the selfsame way? + My soul obeys some influence; + I know not what it is, nor whence. + That secret must for ever lie + Hid by God's awful majesty. + Descartes knew just as much as I: + In other things he may supplant + All men; he's here as ignorant. + But, Iris, this, at least, I know,-- + That no such lofty souls endow + The beasts of whom I've made example:-- + Of soul, man only is the temple. + Yet must we to the beasts accord + Some sense the plant-world can't afford; + And even plants have humble lives. + But let me add one story still; + And let me know how much your skill + Of moral from its facts derives. + + Two Rats, seeking something to eat, found an Egg: + For such folks, to have something to eat is sufficient; + And seldom or never you'll find that they beg + Of the gods turtle soup, or a French cook proficient. + Full of appetite, nimbly they sat down to eat, + And soon from the shell would have drawn out the meat, + When a Fox in the distance appeared, to molest them, + And a question arose, which most greatly distress'd them,-- + No other, as you may suppose, but the way + The Egg from Sir Reynard's keen snout to convey. + To drag it behind them, or roll it on floor, + To pack it behind them, or shove it before, + Were the plans tried in turn, but were all tried in vain. + When at length the old mother of arts[1] made it plain + That, if one on his back held the Egg in his paw, + The other from danger could readily draw. + The plan was successful, in spite of some jolting; + And we leave the two sages their pleasant meal bolting. + + Who shall, after this, declare + That beasts devoid of reason are? + For my part, I'll to beasts allow + The sense that dwells in childhood's brow. + Reason, from childhood's earliest years, + In all its acts and ways appears; + And so it seems to me quite plain + That without soul there may be brain. + I give to beasts a sort of mind, + Compared to ours, a league behind. + Some matter I would subtilise, + Some matter hard to analyse, + Some atoms essence, light's extract; + Fire, subtlest of all things; in fact, + The flames that out of wood arise + Enable us to form some thought + Of what the soul is. Silver lies + Involved in lead. Beasts' brains are wrought + So that they think and judge;--no more. + They judge imperfectly. 'Tis sure + No ape could ever argue. Then + Above all beasts I'll place us men; + For to us men a double treasure + Belongs--that sense which, in some measure, + To all things living here below, + The wise and foolish, high and low, + Is common; and that holier spirit + Which men, with seraphim, inherit. + And, oh! this loftier soul can fly + Through all the wondrous realms of sky: + On smallest point can lie at ease; + And though commenced shall never cease. + Things strange, but true. In infancy + This soul must dim and feeble be; + But ripening years its frame develop, + And then it bursts the gross envelope + Which still in fetters always binds, + In men and beasts, the lower minds. + + + [1] Necessity, the mother of invention. + + + + + FABLE CLXXXVI. + + + THE CORMORANT AND THE FISHES. + + + Through all the country far and wide, + In pools and rivers incessantly diving, + A Cormorant greedy his table supplied, + On their finny inhabitants so daintily thriving. + But at length there came a day + When his strength gave way, + And the Cormorant, having to fish for himself, + Unskilled to use nets which we mortals employ, + The fish for our own selfish use to decoy, + Began soon to starve; with no crumb on the shelf, + What could he do now?--Necessity, mother, + Who teaches us more than we learn when at school, + Advised the poor bird to go down to a pool, + And addressing a Cray-fish, to say to him--"Brother, + Go tell your friends a tale of coming sorrow: + Your master drains this pool a week to-morrow!" + The Cray-fish hurried off without delay, + And soon the pool was quivering with dismay: + Much trouble, much debate. At length was sent + A deputation to the Cormorant. + "Most lordly web-foot! are you sure th' event + Will be as you have stated? If so, grant + Your kind advice in this our present need!" + The sly bird answered--"Change your home with speed." + "But how do that?" "Oh! that shall be my care; + For one by one I'll take you to my home, + A most impenetrable, secret lair, + Where never foe of finny tribe has come; + A deep, wide pool, of nature's best, + In which your race may safely rest." + The fish believed this friendly speech, + And soon were borne, each after each, + Down to a little shallow, cribbed, confined, + In which the greedy bird could choose them to his mind. + + + [Illustration: THE CORMORANT AND THE FISHES.] + + + And there they learnt, although too late, + To trust no bills insatiate. + But, after all, it don't much matter-- + A Cormorant's throat or human platter-- + Whether a wolf or man digest me, + Doesn't seem really to molest me; + And whether one's eaten to-day or to-morrow + Should scarcely be any occasion for sorrow. + + + + + FABLE CLXXXVII. + + THE HUSBAND, THE WIFE, AND THE ROBBER. + + + A Husband, loving very tenderly-- + Most tenderly--his wife, was treated ill + By her;--her coldness caused him misery. + No look, no glance, no, not a friendly word,-- + Not e'en a smile, such as she gave her bird,-- + But cold looks, frowns, and peevish answers, still. + + He did not Venus nor yet Hymen curse, + Nor blame his destiny and cruel lot, + Yet daily grew the evil worse and worse: + Although he loved her every hour the more. + It is so now, and has been so of yore. + In fact, he was a Husband, was he not? + + One night, as he lay moaning in his sleep, + A Robber entered; and, struck dumb with fear, + The fretful Wife, too frightened e'en to weep, + Sprang to her Husband's arms, and, sheltered there, + Defied all sorrow, trouble, danger near, + As her heart softened, and burst forth the tear. + + "Friend Robber," said the Husband, "but for thee + I had not known this boundless happiness. + Take all I have,--I give thee liberty; + Take house and all, to prove my gratitude." + Thieves with much modesty are not endued; + The Robber took sufficient, I confess. + + From this I argue that fear is so strong, + It conquers hatred, and love, too, sometimes. + Yet love has triumphed over passion's throng: + Witness the lover, who his house burnt down, + So he might win Hope's brightest laurel crown, + By rescuing her, the lady he'd loved long, + And so secure her heart. I like the story: + It strikes my fancy very pleasantly; + It is so Spanish in its tone. I glory + In love, so chivalrous and mettlesome, + And hold it grand (so will all times to come). + 'Twas not by any means insanity. + + + + + FABLE CLXXXVIII. + + + THE SHEPHERD AND THE KING. + + + Our lives are spoiled by demons twain; + Turn in, turn out; by each, in season; + By each with reckless force is slain + That which we mortals call our <i>reason</i>. + And if you ask their name and state, + I'll name god Love, the potentate, + For one; and for the other, + I'll name Ambition, Love's half-brother, + Who, not seldom, Love defeats, + And reigns within his choicest seats, + All this I soon could prove; but now + That which I wish to tell is how + A Shepherd by a King was sent for, + And what this royal deed was meant for. + The tale belongs to distant ages, + And not to those which fill these pages. + A numerous flock that filled the plain, + And brought the owner heaps of gain, + Through Shepherd's care and industry, + Once met a sapient's Monarch's eye. + Pleased with such skill and thrift, he said, + "Good Shepherd, to rule men thou'rt bred; + Leave now thy sheep. Come, follow me; + Accept my widest satrapy. + And so our Shepherd, who before + Had scarce had friend but hermit poor, + And very seldom had in view + Aught but his sheep and wolf or two, + Was with a viceroy's sceptre graced; + Nor was he by this change misplaced, + For Nature had endowed his mind + With funds of great good sense; + And how to govern human kind + He amply learned from thence. + + + [ILLUSTRATION: THE SHEPHERD AND THE KING.] + + + Ere many days had passed away, + His former friend, the hermit, + Came running quickly, crying---"Say, + 'Tis dream-work, or as truth affirm it, + That you are now beloved of kings, + And deal yourself in regal things. + Oh, kings mistrust; their favour goes + Life snow on water; thousand woes + Fall ever on the luckless wight + Who basks a time in kingly might. + You know not to what precipice + You haste. Come back; take my advice." + The other smiled; on which the man + Of sacred life, continuing, said-- + "Alas! already I can scan + How far astray your wits have fled; + Your foolish conduct calls to mind + The story of the traveller blind, + Who sees a snake benumbed with cold; + The creature frosts so numb and nip, + He lies like some old leathern whip; + His own just lost, the man takes hold, + And waves the reptile in his joy, + When one who passes by that way + Cries--'Heavens! throw that snake away, + Or quickly 'twill your life destroy.' + 'No snake; but a good whip,' replied the other. + 'No whip; but snake,' replied the stranger; + 'And, pray, should I thus make a pother + Unless I saw your woful danger? + And will you really keep that thing, + With fangs so sharp, and deadly sting?' + 'Of course, I shall; my whip was lost, + And this will save another's cost. + You speak from envy--sir, good-bye.' + The snake, now brandished wide and high, + Grew warm and warmer gradually, + And, stinging, caused the fool to die. + But, as for you, my satrap friend, + You hasten to a bitterer end." + "What! worse than death?" the satrap cried. + "Ah! worse than death," the sage replied. + And, in due time, the hermit's word + Was proved with truth in due accord; + For all the pests that haunt a Court, + By hint and wink, and false report, + Soon made the satrap's virtuous skill + Seem to his royal master ill. + Cabals arose on every side; + Defeated suitors loudly cried, + "With what belonged to us he built that palace wide." + The Monarch fain would see this wealth, + And thither stole one day by stealth, + But nought within it met his eyes + Save modest mediocrities, + And praises of the joys that lie + In loneliness and poverty. + "His wealth, then," cried the pests, "consists + In diamonds, pearls, and amethysts; + In yonder chest with locks his hoard, + The ransom of a king, is stored!" + The Monarch, with his own white hands, + Undoes the locks and clumsy bands, + Throws back the wooden lid--and mute + Each base calumnious courtier stands; + For in that oaken chest is nought + But cap and jacket, roughly wrought, + A simple cloak, a shepherd's flute. + "Ah! much-loved treasures;" then exclaims + The Shepherd; "you are dear, indeed, + For never did you rouse the greed + Or malice of my fellow-men, + And you your master now reclaims; + Let's leave this palace, ne'er again + To enter, save in airy vision. + Monarch! pardon this decision; + When I mounted Fortune's height, + A fate untimely met my sight; + But who, alas! is quite so wise, + As not sometimes to wish to rise?" + + + + + FABLE CLXXXIX. + + + THE TWO MEN AND THE TREASURE. + + + A Man of cash and credit shorn + (The Devil only in his purse), + Resolved to hang himself one morn, + Since death by hunger might be worse: + + A king of death which pleases not + Those curious in their final taste. + A rope and nail he quickly got, + And fixed them to a wall in haste. + + The wall was weak and very old, + With the man's weight it crumbling fell; + When out there came a stream of gold, + The Treasure that he loved so well. + + He did not stay to count, but ran; + Pale Penury no more he feared. + When in the miser came--poor man! + To find his wealth had disappeared. + + "Gold gone! This cord's my only wealth!" + He cried; "now I have lost all hope:" + And so straightway he hanged himself. + How changed the fortunes of that rope! + + The miser saves his wealth for those + Who may be prudent, may be thieves; + Into the grave perhaps it goes: + Who knows the changes Fortune weaves? + + For Lady Fortune mocks outright + At human nature's dying pangs; + And if by you or me made tight + The rope, she laughs that some one hangs! + + + + + FABLE CXC. + + + THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK. + + + "Alas! I see another one + Of my poor foolish flock is gone! + The wolf, relentless, day by day, + Makes still another sheep his prey. + In vain I count them, oft and oft-- + Ten times a hundred; they're so soft, + That they have let my Bob be torn + By wolfish jaws. Ah! me, forlorn! + My darling Bob would follow me, + In town or in the country, up and down, + O'er all the world, with tread for tread, + If I but showed a bit of bread. + A furlong off my step he knew, + And to my piping time kept true. + Alas! poor Bobby!" When, at last, + This funeral discourse had past, + And Robin's fame was duly sounded, + The Shepherd, by his flock surrounded, + Addressed them all, ram, lamb, and sheep, + And said, that if they'd only keep + United, never wolf would dare + Their woolly-coated throats to tear. + The flock declared, with solemn bleat, + They all their master's views would meet, + Form ever one united band, + And chase Sir Wolf from out the land. + Delighted at their brave reply, + Guillot regaled them sumptuously. + But, sad to say, before the night, + There happened a disaster new. + A horrid wolf appeared in sight, + And off the timid creatures flew. + In truth 'twas a mere shadow, but + The ant's a wolf in Lilliput. + + Bad soldiers you in vain address; + Heroic aims they all profess; + But let the slightest danger show, + In spite of generals, off they go. + + + + + FABLE CXCI. + + + THE KITE AND THE NIGHTINGALE. + + + A Daring thief, a Kite by name, + Spread dire alarm o'er hill and dale. + E'en little children cried, "For shame!" + When he pounced on a Nightingale. + + The bird of Spring for life prayed well-- + "I'm fit for songs, and not for eating; + Oh, hear my notes, and I will tell + My tale of Tyreus, still repeating." + + "Tyreus! is that good food?" then said + The Kite. "No, no;" was the reply; + "He was a mighty king, who made + His love to me, with vow and sigh. + + "His cruel love was strong: too strong! + 'Twas mad--'twas criminal: now, sire, + Let me transport you with my song; + A song so sweet you must admire." + + Not having eaten all the day, + The Kite had other views of things. + Thus--"What's the use of music, pray? + I, too, can talk of mighty kings. + + "When you take kings--or kings take you-- + Sing to them and their pretty dears; + I'm hungry, and know what to do-- + An empty stomach has no ears." + + + [Illustration: THE FISH AND THE SHEPHERD WHO PLAYED ON THE CLARIONET.] + + + + + FABLE CXCII. + + + THE FISH AND THE SHEPHERD WHO PLAYED ON THE CLARIONET. + + + Tircis, for his loved Annette + Playing on the Clarionet, + Poured forth strains of music, such + As the very dead might touch:-- + Played and sang beside a stream + Which through the meadows flowed like some delicious dream. + Meanwhile, Annette, demure and pretty, + With rod and line, on fishes bent, + Stood, listening unto Tircis' ditty, + Which failed to lure them from their element. + Still Tircis sang, "Come, come, ye fishes, come: + Come from the cool depths of your watery home; + Forsake your naiad, and see one more fair: + Surrender all your lives to Annette's care! + She is gentle, she is kind; + In her keeping you will find + Your lives more safe than down below. + Safe in a crystal pool, no want you'll know. + And should you in her keeping die, + Your fate I'd suffer willingly." + Now this song was well sung, and the instrument's strains + Were deliciously sweet, but, in spite of his pains, + The fishes avoided the charmer's keen hook. + Then Tircis lost patience, and hastily took + A net called a trammel, and, sweeping the stream, + Placed at Annette's disposal trout, greyling, and bream. + + Oh, shepherds of men, and not of sheep; + Kings, who think you can safely keep + Your subjects in order by rule of right, + Attend to my counsel, and spread out your nets, + Before the time comes for forlorn regrets, + And let them cringe, under the rule of might. + + + + + FABLE CXCIII. + + + THE MAN AND THE SNAKE. + + + A Man once saw a Snake, and said, + "Thou wretched thing, I'll strike thee dead-- + 'Tis for the general good!" + And straight the wicked thing + (By <i>wicked</i> be it understood, + I mean not Man, but wretch with sting; + For some my meaning might mistake), + Well, this base and atrocious Snake + Was placed in sack, + And doomed, alack! + To death without the aid of jury! + But yet the Man, despite his fury, + To show that he with justice acted, + His reasons in these words compacted:-- + "Oh, symbol of all that is base, + 'Twere a crime to spare one of thy race; + For mercy to those that are bad + Can from foolish ones only be had; + And no more shall thy sting or thy teeth, + Oh, thou villanous Snake, find their sheath!" + The Serpent, thus addressed, + His counter views expressed, + And briefly made reply:-- + "O Man! if all must die + Who graceless are, there's none + Who would not be undone. + Yourself shall be the judge; I'll take + From you excuse for me, the Snake. + My life is in your hands, I know, + But ponder ere you strike the blow, + And see now what you justice call + Is based on vices great and small. + Your pleasure and convenience + You'll satisfy at my expense; + But, pray, think not that I am rude, + If, dying, I this statement make-- + That Man, and not the Snake, + The symbol is of all ingratitude." + These words the angry Man surprise, + He starts aside, and then replies-- + "Your words are nonsense, and to me + Belongs of right your fate's decree; + But, nathless, let us have resort + Unto some independent court." + The Snake assented; and a Cow + That stood hard by, appealed to, said-- + "The case is plain; I can't see how + The thing should puzzle any head: + The Snake is right, I'll frankly say; + For yonder Man, for many a day, + With milk and curd I've amply fed, + And long ere this his child were dead, + If my rich food his pining son + Had rescued not from Acheron. + And now that I am old and dry, + He leaves me, wanting grass, to die; + Sure, had a Serpent been my master, + It could have been no worse disaster." + Thus saying, with an awkward bow, + Walked off, or rather limped, the Cow. + The Man, aghast at this decree, + Exclaimed, "O Snake! it cannot be; + The Cow is doting. Let us place + Before this Ox our mutual case." + The Snake assents, and heavily + The Ox walks up, and by-and-by, + Still ruminating, makes reply + To this effect--"That, after years + Of painful toil and weariness, + That Ceres' wealth Man might possess + (And here the Ox burst into tears), + His sole reward had been the goad, + When panting with some weighty load; + And, what was worse, his owner thought + He--Ox--was honoured, being bought + By cruel butcher, to be flayed, + And as a prize beast then displayed!" + The Man declared the Ox a liar, + And said, "Yon Oak-tree shall be trier." + The tree, appealed to, made a case + Redounding unto Man's disgrace; + Told how he sheltered Man from rain, + Told how he garnished hill and plain, + Told how he gave Man flowers and fruits, + And how that, when Man's will it suits, + He cuts him down and burns his roots! + + The Man, convinced against his will, + Resolved to have his vengeance still; + So took the Serpent, bag and all, + And banged it up against the wall, + Until the wretched Serpent died, + And human wrath was satisfied. + + It is ever thus with the rich and great, + Truth and reason they always hate; + They think that all things here below + Solely for their convenience grow; + And if any this simple truth denies, + They call him a sulky growler of lies; + And this being so, when you wish to teach + The truth to such people, keep out of their reach. + + + + + FABLE CXCIV. + + + THE TORTOISE AND THE TWO DUCKS. + + + A Tortoise once, with an empty head, + Grown sick of her safe but monotonous home, + Resolved on some distant shore to tread;-- + It is ever the cripple that loves to roam. + Two Ducks, to whom our friend repaired + To gossip o'er her bold intent, + Their full approval straight declared; + And, pointing to the firmament, + Said, "By that road--'tis broad and ample-- + We'll seek Columbia's mighty range, + See peoples, laws, and manners strange; + Ulysses shall be our example." + (Ulysses would have been astounded + At being with this scheme confounded.) + The Tortoise liking much this plan, + Straightway the friendly Ducks began + To see how one for flight unfitted + Might through the realms of air be flitted. + At length within her jaws they fitted + A trusty stick, and seizing each an end, + With many a warning cry--"Hold fast! hold fast!" + Bore up to heaven their adventurous friend. + The people wondered as the cortège passed, + And truly it was droll to see + A Tortoise and her house in the Ducks' company. + "A miracle!" the wondering mob surprises: + "Behold, on clouds the great Queen Tortoise rises!" + "A queen!" the Tortoise answered; "yes, forsooth; + Make no mistake--I am--in honest truth." + Alas! why did she speak? She was a chattering dunce: + For as her jaws unclose, the stick slips out at once, + And down amidst the gaping crowds she sank, + A wretched victim to her claims to rank. + Self-pride, a love of idle speaking, + And wish to be for ever seeking + A power that Nature ne'er intended, + Are follies close allied, and from one stock descended. + + + [Illustration: THE TWO ADVENTURERS AND THE TALISMAN.] + + + + + FABLE CXCV. + + + THE TWO ADVENTURERS AND THE TALISMAN. + + + I have never heard or read + In annals true or fabled story, + That paths of pleasure ever led + Mortal heroes unto glory; + And in proof of this one sees + The labours twelve of Hercules. + However, once, by Talisman + Induced, a knight conceived the plan + Of mounting horse and couching lance, + And seeking lands of fair romance, + Accompanied by one he knew. + After a time there came in view + A post upon the public way, + On which was writ--"A moment stay, + Adventurous knight. If you would see + That which no knight has seen before, + Venture across yon torrent's roar, + And from the root of yonder tree + Yon elephant's huge head of stone + Raise up, and, without resting, bear + To yonder mountain's crest, which proudly stands alone." + Now of these knights one was of those + Who shudder at your swashing blows. + "The torrent's deep and broad," he cried; + "And if we reach the other side? + Why climb unto a mountain's crest, + With a stone elephant opprest? + 'Tis true the artist may have wrought + His work on such a scale, a man + Might bear it for a yard, then rest; + But tell me not that mortal can + Bear it to yonder mountain's top, + Not daring once for breath to stay. + Perhaps this mystic head is naught + But such as one might bear away; + And if the latter be the truth, + Success were honour small, in sooth. + The whole thing is so plain a trick, + I'll leave it. Come, my friend, be quick." + This wise man having passed along, + The other crossed his breast, and made + A dash across the torrent strong, + And found beneath the tree the beast's head laid. + He raised it, and, with breathless stride, + He bore it to the mountain's brow, + And there, upon a terrace wide, + Gazed on a city fair that stretched below. + "Umph!" cried the elephant, and then + Forth swarmed a host of armed men. + All other errant knights but this + Would now have shown some cowardice; + But he, so far from turning back, + Couched lance in rest, and spurred to the attack. + But what the hero's great surprise, + When all the crowd, with joyful cries, + Proclaimed him monarch, in the place + Of one just dead! With modest grace + The knight declared he was not fit + A crown to wear, and then took it. + Sixtus the Pope once said so, too; + (And is it, then, so bad a thing + To be a pope, or be a king?) + But Sixtus said what was not true. + + Blind fortune to blind courage is a friend; + And often he will gain his end + Who rashly acts; whilst he who tarries, + By prudence quite deceived, miscarries. + + + + + FABLE CXCVI. + + + THE MISER AND HIS FRIEND. + + + A Miser once who'd got much money, + Was puzzled how to hide that honey; + For ignorance and love of gain + Being ever sisters twain, + Had left him at a total loss + Where to secrete his golden dross; + And why the Miser was so hot to find + A place of safety for his hoarded pelf, + Was simply the great fear that filled his mind, + That some day he should spend and rob himself: + Yes, rob himself by gathering pleasure + From the usage of his treasure. + Poor Miser! how I pity your mistake! + Wealth is not wealth unless we use it, + And when we do not we abuse it. + Why keep money till the sense + Of pleasure dies in impotence? + To gather gold alone is wretched slaving; + To have to watch it makes it not worth having. + However this may be, our Miser might + Have found some trusty banker for his gold; + But it seemed better, to his purblind sight, + To give it to the depths of earth to hold. + So with a comrade's aid + It soon beneath the turf was laid; + But when a little time was past, + Our Miser going to re-visit + His buried treasure, found a huge deficit. + At first despair oppressed him; but at last + He hurried to his comrade, and he said-- + "To-morrow I shall want your help again; + Some bags of gold still in my house remain, + And they had better with the rest be laid." + The comrade immediately hurried away, + And returned all the gold he had taken, + Intending to grasp the whole lot the next day; + But in this he was somewhat mistaken; + For the Miser grown wise by the loss of his store, + Resolved 'neath the earth to conceal it no more, + But to use and enjoy it; and thus the poor thief, + By being too clever, came headlong to grief. + + In my belief there is no ill in + Playing the rascal to a villain. + + + + + FABLE CXCVII. + + + THE WOLF AND THE PEASANTS. + + + A Conscientious Wolf one day + (If conscientious Wolves there be), + Lamenting he was beast of prey, + Though such but by necessity, + Exclaimed--"I'm dreaded far and near, + To all a thing of hate and fear; + Dogs, hunters, and peasants combine to pursue me, + And weary out Jove with their prayers to undo me: + In England long since a price paid for my head, + Has caused the whole race to be utterly dead. + I'm an object of wrath to each ignorant squire, + Who orders his people to hunt me and kill; + And if a child cries, all that mothers require + Is to mention my name to make it be still. + And why this universal spite, + In all the country round, + Which never leaves the Wolf at rest? + Because, perchance, by hunger prest, + To satisfy my appetite, + I've eaten scurvy sheep, or ass, or mangy hound. + Ah! well, henceforth I'll eat no living thing, + But feed on herbs, and water from the spring; + Or starve and die--a cruel, cruel fate-- + Sooner than be a thing of universal hate." + Saying these words, a pleasant savour drew + Our wolf's attention to some shepherds near, + Feasting on what his wolfish instinct knew + Had once been lambkin, to some mother dear. + "Ah, ah!" he exclaimed, "this is strange, by my troth; + I'm reproaching myself for each lamb that I've slain, + Whilst the shepherds and sheep-dogs themselves are not loth + To regale on roast lamb is abundantly plain; + And shall I, then, a Wolf, feed on nothing but grass? + No, not if I know it! The day shall not pass + Till a lambkin has gone down my cavernous jaws, + Without waiting for any of cookery's laws. + A lamb, did I say? I should just think so, rather; + Aye, the mother that bore him, and also his father." + Well, the Wolf was right; for as long as we feed + On animals' flesh, it is surely unjust + That we should endeavour to make them recede + To the primitive food of a root or a crust. + And beasts of prey, we should always remember, + Know not the use of spit or ember. + Shepherds, shepherds! trust to me; + The Wolf a hermit ne'er can be. + And sure the Wolf is only wrong + When he is weak and you are strong. + + + + [Illustration: THE RABBITS.] + + + + + FABLE CXCVIII. + + + THE RABBITS. + + TO THE DUKE DE ROCHEFOUCAULD. + + + I Have often said, on seeing + How men like animals seem to act, + That the lord of the earth, a poor frail being, + Is not much better, in fact, + Than the beasts whom he rules; and that Nature + Has given to each living creature + A sense of morality's force, + That its origin owes to the one same source. + + At that witching hour when day + In the brown of the eve melts away, + Or at that when the long-brooding night + Has just lifted its pinions for flight, + I climb up some tree, at the edge of a wood, + And there, like a Jove, so wise and so good, + I startle with fear + Some young Rabbits gambolling near. + + Then the nation of Rabbits, + Which, in tune with its habits, + With eyes and ears both open wide, + Played and browsed on the woodland side, + Perfuming its banquets with odours of thyme, + With a hurry and scurry, + Tails turned in a hurry, + Seeks its earth-sheltered burrows (thieves flying from crime.) + But five minutes, or so, + Have not vanished, when, lo! + More gay than before, + On the fragrant green floor, + A rollicking band, + The Rabbits are there, again, under my hand! + Ah! do we not in this perceive + A picture of the race of men + Who, shipwrecked once, will still again + The safety of the harbour leave, + Risking fresh shipwreck from the selfsame wind? + True Rabbits! They, to fortune blind, + Entrust their wealth, and all their store! + And of this truth take one example more. + + When stranger dogs pass through some place + Where they do not of wont reside, + The native dogs at once give chase, + With hungry jaws, all opening wide + (Fearing that the intruders may + Snatch the true owner's food away), + And never weary till th' intruders + Are safely driven from their borders. + Just so with those whom gracious fates + Have made the governors of states; + And those whom many artful plans + Have made much-favoured courtesans; + And merchants; men of any kind; + In all you'll find this jealous mind. + Each one, in his several place, + To the intruder grants no grace. + Your fine coquettes and authors are + Precisely of this character. + Woe to the unknown writer who + Dares publish something bright and new! + Poets forgive you any crime, + If you'll not rival them in rhyme. + A thousand instances of this + I might recite; but well I wish + That works should never be too long. + Moreover, you should always show + You think your readers wise, you know; + So now I'll close this song. + + Ah! you, to whom I owe so much; + Whose greatness, and whose modesty + Are in exact equality; + Who cannot bear that men should touch + With praiseful tongues your well-earned fame, + Who still will blush with needless shame: + You, who scarcely have allowed + That I should make my verses proud, + And from critics and from time + Protect my insufficient rhyme, + By heading them with one of those + Great names which make our nation's pride, + Our France, whose annals long disclose + More famous names than all the world beside; + Oh, let me tell the universe + That you gave me this subject for my verse. + + + + + FABLE CXCIX. + + + THE SWALLOW AND THE SPIDER. + + + "O Jupiter! who from thy regal brow + Drew forth Minerva, my old enemy, + List to the prayer of a poor Spider now; + Listen, I pray to thee. + Progne here and there, all day, and everywhere, + Ever skimming, flitting, fifty times a day, + Passes by me sitting in my trimly woven lair; + Passes by me impudent, and bears away my prey: + Yes, swallows up the flies that are crowding to my net, + Which with skilful patience 'tween the laurel boughs I've set." + Thus the Spider, who of yore so artistically wove, + But now reduced in rank to the state of humble spinner, + Regarding every fly as hers of right for dinner, + Complained in noisy accents unto all-deciding Jove. + But in spite of this harangue, + Still Philomel's swift sister sprang + Past the luckless Spider's door, + Ever with her main and might, + And with pitiless delight, + Bearing to her brood incessantly the food, + Which the clamorous little gluttons demanded more and more. + But sad it is to tell! still worse was yet to come, + For the Swallow, skimming, flitting, + Spied the Spider sadly sitting, + And snatched her hanging helpless from her once well-ordered + home. + + In this world here below, it is Jupiter's plan + Two tables to spread for two different classes; + At the one feasts the skilful, strong, vigilant man, + At t'other starve feeble and ignorant masses. + + + + + FABLE CC. + + + THE PARTRIDGE AND THE FOWLS. + + + Once to a red-legged Partridge it befell + Amongst a lot of fighting Cocks to dwell. + Now, as the latter are a gallant race, + Fighting with pleasure for a dame's embrace, + The Partridge hoped that she would treated be, + By these brave birds, with hospitality. + But soon, alas! her hopes were cross'd, + For oft, by angry passions toss'd, + Her fiery hosts, with spur and beak, + Would tear her plumage, brown and sleek. + At first, this grieved the Partridge much; + But when, as soon she did, she saw her foes + Inflicting on each other equal woes, + She ceased to blame them; "For," said she, "they're such + As Jupiter has made them; and we know + That he has planted many various creatures here below: + The Partridge, mild; the Game-cock, rude and wild. + If I could be as I would be, + I'd pass my life in gentle company. + But what avails these vain regrets? + The master here takes Partridges in nets, + And forces them to live with Fowls. We owe + To man, and not to Nature, all our woe." + + + + + FABLE CCI. + + + THE LION. + + + Through spoil and plunder, wealthy grown, + A Leopard once claimed as his own, + In meadows broad, and forests deep, + Full many a steer, and stag, and sheep. + At length, upon some luckless morn, + Not far away, a Lion born, + Received, as usual is with great ones, + The compliments well known as state ones. + But this once done, King Leopard said + To Mr. Fox, his vizier keen, + + + [Illustration: THE LION.] + + + "I know you suffer from the spleen, + Because this Lion-whelp is bred. + But why be fearful, since his father + Is in deaths keeping? Pity, rather, + This orphan child, disconsolate, + For he will have a lucky fate, + If he, instead of seeking strife, + Can but contrive to save his life." + The Fox replied, "For orphans such + My pity is not over much. + In fact, two things alone remain,-- + His friendship by some means to gain, + Or else to kill him, ere he grows + Too strong for all the world t' oppose. + His horoscope I've duly cast, + And find that he will ever be + To us the bitterest enemy, + But to allies he will cling fast. + So, now, decide: become his friend, + Or straightway of him make an end." + But argued thus the Fox in vain: + The Leopard slept, with all his train, + Until the Lion's whelp, full grown, + Spread havoc, and made all his own. + Then Mr. Fox, with careworn brow, + Appealed to, said, "'Tis useless, now, + To think of meeting force by force: + Suppose to friends you had recourse, + They would but eat up all your store, + And Master Lion does no more. + But, sire, remember that the Lion + Has got three friends he can rely on, + Who ask for neither pay nor food,-- + Strength, Vigilance, and Fortitude. + So, send him now a sheep or two; + If that won't answer, lambs a few; + And if he's not content with that, + A heifer add, both large and fat; + For by this means, perchance, you may + Save something from this beast of prey." + Thus spoke the Fox; but to his master + Th' advice seemed ill; and thence disaster + Spread over all the country round; + For still, combine as might the states, + Republics, cities, potentates, + They still the Lion master found. + If you would now the moral know, + Just to this brief advice attend:-- + If you have let a Lion grow, + Take care that he becomes your friend. + + + + + FABLE CCII. + + + THE DOG WHOSE EARS WERE CUT. + + + "What have I done, I should like to know, + That my master should make me a public show? + Amongst other dogs I can never now go! + Oh, kings of animals, human race! + Tyrants, authors of my disgrace! + I wish some demon would treat you the same!" + Thus a young Dog reflected, mad with pain, + As they cropped his long ears, but his cries were in vain, + And he thought himself lost; but he found, one fine day. + That his loss was a gain, for, by nature endowed + With a combative spirit, in many a fray + He saw that to cropping his long ears he owed + Avoidance of many a subject for tears,-- + Rough dogs, when they fight, bite their enemies' ears: + For hostile mastiffs his were best of all. + 'Tis easy to defend one opening in a wall; + Armed with a collar, and with ears but small, + Our young Dog meets his foes, fights, and defeats them all. + + + + + FABLE CCIII. + + + THE TWO PARROTS, THE MONARCH, AND HIS SON. + + + A Parrot and his child, 'tis said, + On royal dishes daily fed, + Having the affections won + Of a monarch and his son. + An equal age made either pair + Affection for each other bear. + The fathers gravely loved each other; + And their chicks, though wild and young, + At school or play, together clung, + As fondest brother unto brother. + That a parroquet thus by the son of a king + Should be loved, need we say, was a wonderful thing. + Now the fates had endowed this young heir to the throne + With a love for all creatures that he called his own; + And a Sparrow, by arts which caused prudes to despise her, + Had contrived how to make this great Monarch's son prize her. + And so it chanced, alack! one day. + That the rivals twain, at play, + Fell into a desperate rage; + And the youthful Parrot, stung + By some taunt the Sparrow flung, + Attacked, and sent her dying to her cage. + And then the Prince, with equal fury seized, + The slayer snatched, and in a death-grip squeezed. + Soon to the Parrot-father's ears + The tidings came, and then the air + Was tortured by his wild despair; + But nought availed, or moans or tears, + For his child was lying still-- + Inanimate, with voiceless bill. + Then from his woe the bird awoke, + And, with a cruel, double stroke, + Tore out the wretched Prince's eyes. + This done, unto a pine he flies, + And on its topmost branch he knows + What joy from satiate vengeance flows. + Runs, then, the King to him, and cries, + "Come down, my friend, our tears are vain; + In love let's bury woe and hate. + This wretchedness, 'tis very plain, + Comes from my son; or, rather, Fate + Had long since writ her stern decree, + Your son should die, and mine not see, + And that we parents twain should live disconsolate." + On this the father bird replied-- + "Too great a wrong us twain divide; + Nor can I think he'll smother hate, + Who heathenishly speaks of Fate. + But whether it be Providence + Or Fate that rules our lives, I'm sure + That I will never move from hence + Till tempted by some wood secure. + I know that in a kingly breast + Vengeance for a time may rest; + But kings are also like the gods, + And, soon or late, you feel their rods. + I can scarcely trust you far, + Though sincere you think you are; + But you are losing time below, + For with my will I'll never go. + And trust me, hate, like love, is best + By absence lullabied to rest." + + + + + FABLE CCIV. + + + THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE. + + + To judge by appearances only is wrong, + The maxim is true, if not very new, + And by means of a mouse I have taught it in song; + But to prove it at present I'll change my note, + And with Æsop and Socrates, also, I'll quote + A boor whom Marcus Aurelius drew, + And left us a portrait both faithful and true. + The first are old friends; but the other, unknown, + Is sufficiently well in this miniature shown. + His chin was clothed with a mighty beard, + And all his body so thickly furred, + That much he resembled a grizzly bear-- + One that had never known mother's care; + + + [Illustration: THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.] + + + 'Neath eyebrows shaggy, two piercing eyes + Glared in a way more fierce than wise; + Whilst ill-shaped lips and a crooked nose, + The sum of his facial beauties close. + A girdle of goat-skin formed his dress, + With small shells studded for comeliness. + This sturdy youth, at a time when Rome + Spoiled many a race of its native home, + Was sent as a sort of deputation, + By Danubian towns, to the Roman nation. + Arriving after toilsome travels, + The rustic thus his tale unravels: + "O Romans! and you, reverend sires, + Who sit to list to my desires, + First, let me pray the gods, that they + May teach me what I ought to say, + And so direct my ignorant tongue, + That it may utter nothing wrong! + Without their intervention must + Be all things evil, all unjust. + Unless through them we plead our cause, + 'Tis sure we violate their laws. + In witness of this truth perceive + How Roman avarice makes us grieve; + For 'tis not by its arms that Rome + Has robbed us both of peace and home; + 'Tis we ourselves, ill ways pursuing, + Have worked at length our own undoing. + Then, Romans, fear that Heaven, in time, + To <i>you</i> may send the wage of crime, + And justice, in <i>our</i> vengeful hands + Placing its destructive brands, + Hurl swift o'er you the endless waves + Of war, and make you fettered slaves! + Why, why should we be slaves to you? + What is't that you can better do + Than the poor tribes you scourge with war? + Why trouble lives that tranquil are? + Before you came we fed in peace + Our flocks and reaped our fields' increase. + What to the Germans have you taught? + Courageous they and quick of thought, + Had avarice been their only aim, + They might have played a different game, + And now have held the world in chains; + But, ah! believe me, they would not + Have scourged your race with needless pains, + Had victory been now their lot. + The cruelties by your prefects wrought + Can scarce be ever borne in thought; + Us e'en your Roman altars scare, + For your gods eyes are everywhere. + The gods, alas! 'Tis thanks to you + That nought but horror meets their view, + That they themselves are scoffed and jeered at, + And all but avarice is sneered at. + Of all the cruel men you sent + To rule our towns, not one's content. + They seize our lands, they make us toil, + And e'en our little huts they spoil. + Oh, call them back. Our boors refuse + To till the fields for others' use. + We quit our homes, and to the mountains fly, + No tender wife now bears us company; + With wolves and bears we pass our lives away, + For who would children rear for Rome to slay? + And, oh! the terrors of your prefects bring + One added horror; for a hateful thing, + Unknown before, has now spread far and wide + Throughout our native land--Infanticide! + Call back your men, or else the German race + From day to day in vice will grow apace. + But why should I come here to make appeal? + The self-same vices spoil your commonweal: + At Rome, as on the Danube's banks, the way + To gain a scrap of justice is to pay. + I know my words are rude, and only wait + Humbly to suffer candour's usual fate." + The half wild peasant paused, and all, + Astonished that such words could fall + From lips uncouth, and that such sense, + Large-heartedness, and eloquence, + Could dwell within a savage man, + Proclaimed him a Patrician. + The Danube's prefects were recalled, + And others in their place installed. + And more than this, the Senate made + A copy of the Peasant's speech, + All future orators to teach + How to tell truth, convince, persuade. + But sad to tell, not long at Rome + Had eloquence like this its home. + + + + + FABLE CCV. + + + THE LIONESS AND SHE-BEAR. + + + A Mother Lion had lost her young: + A hunter had stolen her cub away; + And from the dawn, when the gay birds sung, + All through the shadeless hours of day, + She filled the forest with huge dismay; + Nor did the night, with its silent charms, + Still the voice of this childless mother's alarms. + At length a She-Bear rose, and said, + "Do you ever think of the children dead, + By your paws and jaws so cruelly slain? + Yet their mothers silent still remain; + And why not you?" The beast replied, + "My child is lost, perhaps has died; + And nothing for me now is left + But a life of hope bereft." + "And what condemns you to this wretched fate?" + "Fate!" echoed then the beast disconsolate. + From since the time the world a world became, + All living things have thought or said the same. + + You wretched mortals, who bewail + That over you Fate's darkest cloud is thrown, + Just think of Hecuba's sad tale, + Then thank the gods that it is not your own. + + + + + FABLE CCVI. + + + THE MERCHANT, THE NOBLEMAN, THE SHEPHERD, AND THE KING'S SON. + + + A Merchant, Shepherd, Lord, and a King's Son, + Adventuring to a distant land, + By waves and shipwrecks utterly undone, + Found themselves beggars on a foreign strand. + It matters not to tell at large + What chance had joined them in an equal fate; + But, one day, sitting on a fountain's marge, + They counsel took, disconsolate. + The Prince confessed, with many a bitter sigh, + The ills that fall on those who sit on high. + The Shepherd thought it best to throw + All thoughts of former ills afar;-- + "Laments," he said, "no medicines are; + So let us use the arts we know, + And work, and earn the means to take us back to Rome." + But what is this? Can prudent language come + From Shepherd's mouth? and is it not, then, true + That they alone are wise whose blood is blue? + Surely sheep and shepherd are, + As far as thought goes, on a par? + However, wrecked on shores American, + Without a choice, the three approved this plan. + The Merchant cried that they should keep a school; + Himself arithmetic would teach by rule, + For monthly pay. "And I," the Prince exclaimed, + "Will teach how proper laws for states are framed." + The Noble said, "And I intend to try + For pupils in the art of Heraldry."-- + As though such wretched stuff could have + A home beyond the Atlantic wave! + Then cried the Shepherd, "Worth all praise + Are your intentions; but, remark, the week + Has many days. Now, where a meal to seek + I am somewhat in the dark. + Your prospects of success are good, + But I am pining, now, for food; + Tell me therefore, comrades, pray, + Whence comes to-morrow's meal, and whence the meal + to-day? + You seem in your resources rich; + But food to day's a subject which + So presses, that I really must + Decline to put in you my trust." + This said, the Shepherd in a neighbouring wood + Collected fagots, which he sold for food, + And shared it kindly with his clever friends, + Before their talents had attained their ends, + Or, by long fasting, they were forced to go + And air their talents in the world below. + From this adventure we, I think, may learn + That for life's daily needs much learning is not wanted; + But that to every man the power to earn + Food by his labour has been freely granted. + + + + + FABLE CCVII. + + + THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG MEN. + + + An Old Man, planting a tree, was met + By three joyous youths of the village near, + Who cried, "It is dotage a tree to set + At your years, sir, for it will not bear, + Unless you reach Methuselah's age: + To build a tomb were much more sage; + But why, in any case, burden your days + With care for other people's enjoyment? + 'Tis for <i>you</i> to repent of your evil ways: + To care for the future is <i>our</i> employment!" + Then the aged man replies-- + + + [Illustration: THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG MEN.] + + + "All slowly grows, but quickly dies. + It matters not if then or now + You die or I; we all must bow, + Soon, soon, before the destinies. + And tell me which of you, I pray, + Is sure to see another day? + Or whether e'en the youngest shall + Survive this moment's interval? + My great grandchildren, ages hence, + Shall bless this tree's benevolence. + And if you seek to make it plain + That pleasing others is no gain, + I, for my part, truly say + I taste this tree's ripe fruit to-day, + And hope to do so often yet. + Nor should I be surprised to see-- + Though, truly, with sincere regret-- + The sunrise gild your tombstones three." + These words were stern but bitter truths: + For one of these adventurous youths, + Intent to seek a distant land, + Was drowned, just as he left the strand; + The second, filled with martial zeal, + Bore weapons for the common weal, + And in a battle met the lot + Of falling by a random shot. + The third one from a tree-top fell, + And broke his neck.--The Old Sage, then, + Weeping for the three Young Men, + Upon their tomb wrote what I tell. + + + + + FABLE CCVIII. + + + THE GODS AS INSTRUCTORS OF JUPITER'S SON. + + Jupiter youthful, once on a time, + Thought it no crime + To bring up his son as the mortal ones do; + And straightway this godlike one, given to jollity, + Love's sweet frivolity, + Thought it no harm maiden's favour to sue, + For in him love and reason, + Skipping over a season, + Long ere the usual time, taught him to woo. + Flora was first to set + His poor young heart in fret; + And with sighs and tears tender, + Forgetting no lovers trick, + This roguish young hero quick + Made her surrender. + And shortly it was evident + That, thanks to his supreme descent, + All other god-born children were + Surpassed by Jupiter's young heir; + But Jupiter, rather dissatisfied + (In his pride), + Assembling his council, one thunderous day, + Said, "I've hitherto ruled all this universe wide + Alone; but I feel, now, the weight of my sway, + And would fain to my child give some power away. + He's blood of my blood, and already, afar, + His altars are worshipped in many a star; + But before I entrust him with sovereign place, + I should like him to grow, both in knowledge and grace." + Thus the God of Thunder spoke, + And then, with one acclaim sonorous, + A shout of praise, in tuneful chorus, + The echoes deep of heaven awoke. + When silence was at length restored, + Mars, God of War, took up the word, + And said, "I will myself impart + To this young prodigy the art + Through which this realm so vast has grown, + And those who mortal were are now as godlike known." + Then Apollo, tunefully, + Murmured, "He shall learn from me + All that sweet and mystic lies + In music's deepest harmonies." + Next Hercules, with eyes of flame, + Exclaimed, "I'll teach him how to tame + The monsters that invade the breast, + The vain temptations that infest + The heart's recesses; yes, I'll teach + Your offspring how with toil to reach + Heights and honours that alone + Are to steadfast virtue known." + When all had spoken, with an air of scorn + Smiled, in reply, the child of Venus born: + "Leave," he said, "the boy alone to me, + And all that he can be he'll be." + And, speaking thus, well spoke god Cupid; + For there's nought on earth more plain + That he is not wholly stupid + Who, loving well, does all things gain. + + + + + FABLE CCIX. + + + THE OWL AND THE MICE. + + + Whene'er you have a tale to tell, + Ne'er call it marvellous yourself, + If you would have it go down well, + For, if you do, some spiteful elf + Will scorn it; but for once I'll vow + The tale that I shall tell you now + Is marvellous, and though like fable, + May be received as veritable. + + So old a forest pine had grown, + At last 'twas marked to be cut down. + Within its branches' dark retreat + + + [Illustration: THE OWL AND THE MICE.] + + + An Owl had made its gloomy seat-- + The bird that Atropos thought meet + Its cry of vengeance to repeat. + Deep in this pine-tree's stem, time-worn, + With other living things forlorn, + Lived swarms of Mice, who had no toes; + But never Mice were fat as those, + For Master Owl, who'd snipped and torn, + Day after day fed them on corn. + The wise bird reasoned thus: "I've oft + Caught and stored Mice within my croft, + Which ran away, and 'scaped my claws; + One remedy is, I'll cut their paws, + And eat them slowly at my ease-- + Now one of those, now one of these. + To eat them all at once were blameful, + And my digestion is so shameful." + + You see the Owl was, in his way, + As wise as we; so, day by day, + His Mice had fit and due provision. + Yet, after this, some rash Cartesian + Is obstinate enough to swear + That Owls but mechanism are. + But how, then, could this night-bird find + This craftily-contrived device, + The nibbling of the paws of mice, + Were he not furnished with a mind? + + See how he argued craftily: + "Whene'er I catch these Mice, they flee; + And so the only way to save them + Is at one huge meal to brave them. + But that I cannot do; besides, + The wise man for bad days provides. + But how to keep them within reach? + Why, neatly bite the paws from each." + Now, could there, gentle reader mine, + Be human reasoning more fine? + Could Aristotle's self have wrought + A closer chain of argued thought? + + + + + FABLE CCX. + + + THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES. + + TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY. + + + O Prince! to whom the immortals give + Their care, and power, and grace, permit: + My verse may on your shrine still live, + By burning there, though void of wit. + I know 'tis late; but let my muse + Plead years and duns for her excuse. + My soul is faint, and not like yours, + Which as an eagle proudly soars. + The hero from whose veins you drew + This brilliant soul, is e'en like you, + In martial fields; 'tis not his fault + His steps at victory's archway halt: + Some god retains him; the same king + Who once the Rhine with victory's wing + Swept over in one month, they say. + Then speed was right; but now, delay. + But I must pause. The Loves and Smiles + Detest the verse that runs to miles: + And of the Loves and Smiles your court + Is, all men know, the chief resort. + But other gods its precincts grace: + Good Sense and Reason there have place; + And I must beg that you will seek + Of these a story from the Greek, + Of certain men who, yielding up + Their souls to Folly's poisoned cup, + From men to beasts were quickly changed, + And in brute forms the forest ranged. + + After ten years of war and pain, + Ulysses' comrades tempt the main; + Long tost about by every wind, + At length an island shore they find, + Where Circe, great Apollo's child, + Held sway, and on the strangers smiled. + She gave them cups of drink delicious, + With poison sweet, with drugs pernicious. + Their reason first gave way; and then + They lost the forms and souls of men, + Ranging about in shapes of beast, + Some like the largest, some the least:-- + The lion, elephant, and bear, + The wolf, and e'en the mole, were there. + Ulysses, he alone escaped, + Refusing Circe's cups to drain; + And, as his form was finely shaped, + And god-like wisdom graced his mind, + The goddess sought his soul to gain, + By poisoned draughts of varied kind: + In fact, like any turtle-dove, + The goddess cooed, and told her love. + Ulysses was too circumspect, + Such coign of vantage to neglect, + And begged that all his comrades should + Resume their manhood's natural mould. + "Yes," said the nymph, "it shall be so, + If they desire. You ask them, go." + Ulysses ran, and, calling round + His former comrades, said, "I've found + A method sure, by which again + You may resume the forms of men; + And, as a token that 'tis true, + This instant speech returns to you." + Then roared the Lion, "I'm no fool, + Your offer really is too cool. + What! throw away my claws and teeth, + With which I tear my foes to death? + No! Now I'm King.--In Grecian land + I should a private soldier stand. + You're very kind, but let me rest; + I choose to be a regal beast." + Much with this rough-roared speech distressed, + Ulysses next the Bear addressed, + And said, "My brother, what a sight + Are you, who once were trim and slight!" + The Bear replied, in accents gruff, + "I'm like a bear--that's quite enough; + Who shall decide, I'd like to know, sir, + That one form's fine, another grosser? + Who made of man the judge of bears? + With fair dames now I've love affairs. + You do not like my shape? 'Tis well; + + + [Illustration: THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES.] + + + Pass on. Content and free I dwell + Within these woods, and flatly say, + I scorn mankind, and here shall stay." + The Prince the Wolf accosted then, + And, lest refusal came again, + Said, "Comrade, I'm in deep distress, + For there's a lovely shepherdess + Who echo wearies out with cries + Against your wolfish gluttonies. + In former days your task had been + Her sheep from every wolf to screen: + You led an honest life. Oh, come, + And once more manhood's form resume." + "No, no," replied the Wolf; "I'll stay: + A ravenous wolf you call me. Pray, + If I the sheep had eaten not, + Would they have 'scaped your spit and pot? + If I were man, should I be less + A foe unto the shepherdess? + For just a word, or slight mistake, + You men each other's heads will break; + And are you not, then, wolfish, too? + I've weighed the case, and hold it true + That wolves are better far than man: + I'll be a Wolf, then, whilst I can." + To all, in turn, Ulysses went, + And used this selfsame argument. + But all, both great and small, refused + To be of beast-life disabused. + To range the woods, to feed and love, + To them seemed all things else above. + "Let others reap the praise," they cried, + "Of noble deeds: we're satisfied." + And so, fast bound in Pleasure's chains, + They thought that free they roamed the plains. + + O Prince! I much had wished to choose + A tale which might teach and amuse. + The scheme itself was not so bad; + But where could such a tale be had? + I pondered long: at length the fate + Of Circe's victims struck my pate. + Such victims in this world below + Were always, and are even now: + To punish them I will not strike, + But hold them up to your dislike. + + + + + FABLE CCXI. + + + THE FARMER, THE DOG, AND THE FOX. + + + The Wolf and the Fox are neighbours strange, + And within their reach I'd not build my grange. + One of the latter had long espied + The fowls of a Farmer; but though he tried + Each art of his cunning, the hens were still + Safe from the jaws of the midnight ranger. + Perplex'd as he was 'twixt his hungry will + And the wholesome dread of impending danger, + "Alas!" he cried, "it is fine, forsooth, + That wretches like these should mock me. + I come and I go, and I whet my tooth, + And with brilliant schemes I stock me; + And all this time that horrible lout, + The Farmer, makes money, week in, week out, + Of chicken and capon, or roasts or boils; + Whilst I, who surpass him in wit and sense, + Would be glad if I could but carry from hence + The toughest old hen, as reward for my toils. + By the gods above and the gods below, + Omnipotent Jove! I should like to know, + And I will know, too, why you made me a Fox + To suffer such troubles and impudent mocks." + So breathing his vengeance, Sir Sly Fox chose + A night when the world was bathed in repose; + When the Farmer, his servants, and even his dogs, + Cocks, chickens, and hens slept as sound as logs. + Now the Farmer himself, with a folly extreme, + Had left the door open ere he went to dream; + And the consequence was, that the Fox entered in it, + And its feathered inhabitants slew in a minute. + With the morrow's new-born sun, + All the slaughter that was done + Struck the eye with huge dismay, + And almost made the sun avert his rising ray. + 'Twas a parallel, in fact, + With Apollo's direful act, + When, with Atreus' son enraged, + With the Greeks such war he waged, + That great hillocks of the slain + Lay heaped high upon the plain. + Not unlike the ghastly scene + When great Ajax, filled with spleen, + Flocks of sheep and herds of oxen madly slew, + Dreaming that he smote the crew + Who, with famed Ulysses wise, + Had deprived him of his prize. + Then the Fox, whom none could parry, + Having seized on what he might, + Thought it quite unwise to tarry, + And discreetly took to flight. + Now when the Master rose, be sure + Against his men and dogs he swore, + For 'tis a common trick of masters + Others to blame for their disasters. + "Oh, wretched Dog!" he shouted forth; + "O Dog! for drowning only worth, + Why barked you not to let us know?" + "Master," the Dog replied, "I trow, + Master and Farmer, 'tis not fair + That I your anger now should share. + The fowls are yours, and yours the gain; + Then why should I, sir, suffer pain, + Because you leave your fowls exposed + To any thief that way disposed?" + Such reasoning, we must all admit, + For a mere Dog, was fraught with wit; + But, on the other hand, 'tis sure + That masters can't such wit endure, + As Carlo found, when soundly whipped + For words of sense unwisely slipped. + + Now, fathers all, whoe'er you be + (I aim not at that high degree), + When you would sleep, trust none of those + Around you, but your own doors close. + He who would have a thing well done + Should trust unto himself alone. + + + + + FABLE CCXII. + + + THE DREAM OF AN INHABITANT OF MOGUL. + + + Once on a time, in slumber wrapt, + A certain peasant had a vision + Of a great Vizier, calmly lapt + In endless joys of fields Elysian; + Then straightway in a moment's space + The dreamer sees another place, + Wherein a Hermit bathed in fire + Endures such torments as inspire + Even those who share his fate + With sympathy compassionate. + Unusual this; indeed, so curious, + It seemed as though the dreams were spurious, + And to the dreamer so surprising, + That straight he woke, and fell surmising + His dreams were ill, as some aver. + But soon a wise Interpreter, + Consulted, said, "Be not perplexed, + For if to me some skill is given + To understand a secret text, + These dreams are messages from heaven, + And mean, On earth, whene'er he could, + The Vizier sought sweet solitude; + Whereas the Hermit, day by day, + To courts of viziers made his way." + + Now, if to this I dare to add, + I'd praise the pleasures to be had + Deep in the bosom of retreat; + Pleasures heavenly, pure, and sweet. + O Solitude! I know your charms! + O Night! I ever in your breast, + Far, far from all the world's alarms, + By balmy air would still be blest; + Oh, who will bear me to your shades? + When shall the Nine, the heavenly maids, + Far from cities, far from towns, + Far from human smiles and frowns, + Wholly employ my tranquil hours, + And teach me how the mystic powers + Aloft, unseen by human eyes, + Mysterious, hold their mighty sway? + And how the planets, night and day, + Fashion and rule our destinies? + But if for such pursuits as these + I am not born, at least among + The groves I'll wander, and in song + Describe the woods, the streams, the trees. + No golden threads shall weave my fate; + 'Neath no rich silk I'll lie in state; + And surely yet my eyes shall close + In no less deep and sweet repose. + To Solitude fresh vows I'll pay; + And when, at length, the fatal day + Shall place me in the arms of death, + As calm I've lived, so calm I'll yield my breath. + + + + + FABLE CCXIII. + + + THE TWO GOATS. + + + Since goats have ever clambering browsed, + By Nature's gentle force aroused, + They've wandered far and wandered free, + Enjoying sweets of liberty. + Their greatest pleasure is to find + Paths all unknown to human kind: + A rock, or hanging precipice, + Suits these wild animals' caprice: + No wall can make their gambols cease. + Two white-foot Goats, then, thus inspired, + + + [Illustration: THE TWO GOATS.] + + + And with adventurous spirit fired, + Deserted pastures too well known, + And chose their routes, each one his own. + But though each separate pathways took, + It chanced they reached the self-same brook, + O'er which, for bridge, a plank was thrown, + That scarce would have sufficed for one. + The stream was deep, the flood was wide, + And should these dames have terrified; + But, spite of danger, each young lady + Advanced upon the plank unsteady. + And now, by aid of history, + Louis le Grand I seem to see + Philip the Fourth advance to meet + Upon the isle of conference. + Well, step by step, with agile feet, + Our ramblers, with a proper sense + Of what was due to ancestry, + Refused to yield; for one Goat, she + Could claim that Polyphemus laid + Her sire at Galatea's feet; + The other, just as boldly, said + Her dam was Amalthæa sweet-- + The goat who gave her milk to Jove, + Who rules below, and reigns above. + Neither would yield, so both fell down, + And there we leave our Goats to drown. + + Of moral I've not much to say: + But such things happen every day. + + + + + FABLE CCXIV. + + + THE LION, THE APE, AND THE TWO ASSES. + + + A young King Lion, desirous to shape + By morality's laws his government, + On one fine morning, prudently sent + For that clever old master of arts, the Ape; + And the statesman, consulted, sagely replied, + "O King, hold this maxim as your very best guide-- + Let your own self-will to the good of the state + Be in all cases subordinate; + For 'tis simply neglect of this wholesome rule + That so oft makes us animals play the fool. + It is not in one day, or even in two, + That this evil self-love you'll contrive to subdue; + But should you succeed, oh, my monarch august, + You will never be foolish, and seldom unjust." + "Give me examples," replied the King, + "Of both the one and the other thing." + "Each species has its vanity," + The Ape said very seriously; + "As, for instance, my own; for the lawyers call + All but themselves, mean, base, and small. + But, on the other hand, self-esteem + Leads us to laud our deeds to the sky, + As, by doing this, we fondly deem + That our own position is raised as high. + And now I deduce, from what I have said, + That much so-called talent is mere grimace-- + A trick which, as wise men know, has led + Many an idiot to power and place. + + "Whilst following close, but the other day, + The steps of two Asses, who foolishly + Fed each other with flattery, + I heard the one to the other say, + Is it not, sir, a shame and disgrace + That the tribe of mankind, that perfect race, + Should profane our dignified name, by denoting + As asses all those that are stupid or doting? + And even has ventured such lengths as to say, + That, when mortals speak nonsense, they utter a bray! + 'Tis pleasant, forsooth, to perceive how mankind + Dream they're above us, and yet are so blind. + No, no, let their orators silent remain, + For they are the brayers, and fools in grain; + But with man let us cease one another to bother: + 'Tis enough that we quite comprehend one another. + I will only here add that you have but to speak, + To make larks seem hoarse, and the blackbird to squeak.' + 'These qualities, sir,' then the other replied, + 'In yourself, in the fullest perfection, reside.' + And, having thus spattered each other with praise, + They trot far and wide to repeat the same craze; + Each fondly in hope, like a couple of crows, + That a caw shall come back for the caw he bestows. + But this trait is not asinine only, I own, + For I myself many great people have known + Who would gladly, instead of my-lording each other, + Have said, each to each, 'My Imperial Brother!' + But I've spoken too long, and will only request + That this secret be hid in your Majesty's breast: + Since your Majesty wished me some trait to divulge, + Which would show him how those who in self-love indulge + Become objects of scorn; it would take me too long + To show also, now, how it leads to worse wrong." + Thus spoke the Monkey false by nature; + But it has still in doubt remained + If he the other point explained; + Your Monkey is a knowing creature, + And knows it is not fortunate + To be too truthful with the great. + + + + + FABLE CCXV. + + + THE WOLF AND THE FOX. + + + Why to the Fox does Æsop ever + Give the palm of being clever? + I the reason oft have sought, + Without of reason finding aught. + When the Wolf's engaged in strife, + To save his own or take a life, + The Fox can do no more than he, + Or half as much, and so I might + With Master Æsop disagree. + But there's a case has come to light, + In which 'tis fair I should admit + The Fox displayed the greater wit. + On one fine night it so befell + That Reynard, looking down a well, + The moons full silver circle sees, + And takes it for a lordly cheese. + Two pails, above the well suspended, + To draw the water were intended; + And into that which higher hung, + Good Master Reynard, famished, sprung. + Down swift he went, and, to his woe, + Found out his sad mistake below. + He saw his death before his eyes; + For he could never hope to rise, + Unless some other famished thing, + Enticed by Dian's silver face, + Into the other pail should spring, + And then, by sinking, take his place. + Two days passed on without a visit + From any creature; and, meanwhile, + Old Time had made a huge deficit + In Mistress Moon's well-rounded smile. + But, just as all seemed lost, at last + A hungry Wolf the well's mouth past; + To whom the Fox, with joyous hail, + Cried, "Mister Wolf, with me regale; + This glorious cheese you here behold, + From Fauna's hands received its mould, + Of milk which heifer Io gave. + If Jupiter were lying ill, + I think the god himself would crave + Of this delicious cheese to have his fill. + I've eaten my share, as you plainly may see, + But enough still remains both for you and for me; + So, enter that pail, placed expressly for you." + Now, whether this story was told well, or not, + The Wolf, like a fool, took it all in as true, + And into the bucket with eagerness got; + When, outweighed, of course, Master Reynard got up, + And the other remained, on the moonshine to sup. + And yet, why blame the luckless beast? + For, tempted by some phantom feast, + As easily deceived, + That which he hopes, or that he fears, + In either of the hemispheres. + Is by each man believed. + + + + + + FABLE CCXVI. + + + THE SICK STAG. + + + In a land where stags abounded, + One fell very sick indeed; + And he saw his bed surrounded + By a dozen "friends in need." + "Gentlemen!" he muttered, "leave me, + Leave me, I implore, to fate: + Since your tears can only grieve me, + And your solace comes too late." + Not a bit;--their lamentations + Lasted for a week, or more; + + + [Illustration: THE SICK STAG.] + + + While they took their daily rations + From his very scanty store. + Bit by bit his food diminished, + Under such attacks as these; + Till the sufferer's course was finished + By starvation--not disease. + + For comforters of every kind + Some fee is necessary, mind; + And nobody will give advice, + Or shed a tear, without his price. + + + + + FABLE CCXVII. + + + THE CAT AND THE TWO SPARROWS. + + TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY. + + + Of equal age, lived closed together + A Sparrow and a Cat; + And he of fur and he of feather + Grew so familiar, that + The bird could fearlessly provoke + His formidable friend in joke. + To peck out eyes the one with beak pretended, + The other with protruded claws defended. + The Cat, however, truth to say, + Was always gentle in his play; + And though he showed his claws, took care + His little chirping friend to spare. + The fretful Sparrow, much less meek, + His tiny fury tried to wreak + On Master Cat, who only purred, + And thence this truth may be inferred, + That friends should never, in dissension, + Let quarrel grow to strife's dimension. + Still old acquaintance ne'er forgot + Kept their strifes from growing hot, + And battle never sprang from play. + But yet it chanced, one luckless day, + A neighbouring Sparrow heedless flew + To where Miss Chirp and Master Mew + Had lived so long in amity. + At first 'twas well; but, by-and-by, + The birds grew jealous, and in rage + Gave vent to wrath none could assuage. + The Cat, aroused from hearth-rug sleep, + Endeavoured first the peace to keep, + But finding that in vain, declared, + "What! let this stranger Sparrow come + To eat my friend in his own home? + It shall not be." His claws he bared, + And soon, without a spoon or fork, + Of Master Chirp made but short work. + The Sparrow eaten, said the Cat, + "A most delicious morsel, that!" + And as no other bird was near, + Next swallowed his companion dear. + + From this what moral shall I learn? + Without a moral, fables are + But empty phantoms--deserts bare. + Some glimpse of moral I discern, + But I'll not trace it; I've no fear + But that your Grace will see it clear. + For you 'tis only simple play; + But for my muse in any way + 'Twere toil. In fact, I'll not the truth let fall + For you, who need it not at all. + + + + + FABLE CCXVIII. + + + THE MISER AND THE APE. + + + A Man was a Miser; every one knows + That his was a vice which grows and grows: + This was a man that filled jars and buckets, + Old stockings and coffers, with pistoles and ducats. + 'Tis a maxim of mine that such things left unused, + I mean pistoles and ducats, are simply abused. + To secure all his wealth from the lovers of stealth, + My Miser had built him a home, + Surrounded by waves with their foam, + And there with a pleasure the which + To some seems but poor, to some rich, + He heaped up his wealth with delight, + And every day, and each night, + He counted the sum, and re-counted, + And gloated to see how it mounted; + But, somehow, count well as he might, + The gold pieces never came right. + And the source of this grievous disaster + Was this, that an Ape, than his master + More wise, to my mind, took a pleasure + In flinging to seaward his treasure. + The Miser secure, + With his double-locked door, + Was wont to leave silver and gold + All loose on his table, untold. + "Ah! ah!" said the Monkey, one day; + "I'll fling this in the sea; 'twill be gay." + Now for me it were hard to decide + If the Master or Ape were the wiser, + 'Twould be half for the Ape, half for Miser. + Well, as I've said, the Ape, one day, + Laying hands on Master's gold, + Many a ducat flung away, + With sovereigns new and angels old. + With huge delight he tried his skill, + And ducks and drakes made with a will, + Of golden coins which mortals seem + To think of mortal goods the cream. + In fact, had not the Monkey heard + The key within the key-hole stirred, + And feared its Master, every coin + Had gone its comrades to rejoin, + And 'neath the waves with golden flecks + Had lit the gloomy floor of wrecks. + Now, blessings on each Miser's head, + Both whilst he lives and when he's dead. + + + + + TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY, + + <i>In Answer to a Request for a Fable on "The Cat and the Mouse."</i> + + + To please the youthful Prince whom courtly fame + Destines entempled in my works to be, + How shall I write a fable with this name-- + <i>Le Chat et la Souris?</i> ("The Cat and the Mouse.") + + How can I represent in verse a maid + Who, sweet in aspect, yet still ruthless played + With hearts her charms snared, as you see + <i>Le petit Chat</i> does <i>la Souris?</i> + + Shall I sketch Fortune, and show her deceit?-- + Tell how she gulls the world with the old cheat? + Treating poor self-complacent friends you see + <i>Comme le Chat</i> does <i>la Souris?</i> + + Shall I depict of all earth's royalty + The only one her restless wheel that stays? + The one who wars with Europe's chivalry; + And with the strongest of his foemen plays, + <i>Comme le Chat</i> with <i>la Souris?</i> + + But as I write, there comes, insensibly, + The plan that suits me, if I don't mistake; + I should spoil all if lazy I should be: + Mockery the Prince of my poor muse would make, + <i>Comme le Chat</i> of <i>la Souris.</i> + + + + + FABLE CCXIX. + + + THE OLD CAT AND THE YOUNG MOUSE. + + + A young Mouse, small and innocent, + Implored an Old Cat's clemency:-- + "Raminagrobis, let me live! + Your royal mercy, monarch, give! + A Mouse so little, sir, as I + A tiny meal can well supply. + How could I starve a family? + Host, hostess, only look at me; + I fatten on a grain of wheat: + A mite my dinner makes complete. + I'm thin, too, now;--just wait a bit, + And for your children I'll be fit." + Thus to the Cat the Mouse, aggrieved; + The other answered. "You're deceived. + Is it to me you talk like that? + Go, tell the deaf and dumb--not me: + Old Cats don't pardon, so you'll see. + The law condemns, and you must die: + Descend, and tell the Fates that I + Have stopped your preaching, and be sure + My children's meals will not be fewer." + He kept his word; and to my fable + I add a moral, as I'm able: + Youth hopes to win all by address; + But age is ever pitiless. + + + + + FABLE CCXX. + + + THE BAT, THE BUSH, AND THE DUCK. + + + A Bat, a Bush, and Duck, one day, + Finding home business would not pay, + Resolved their purses to unite, + And risks of foreign trade invite. + Soon with factors, counters, agents, + And all the merchants' usual pageants, + Ledgers, day-books, and all that, + Surrounded, they grew rich and fat. + All went on well, till, lucklessly, + A cargo, trusted to the sea, + And traversing a rock-bound strait, + Ill-piloted, endured the fate + Of all the other treasures which + King Neptune's sea-roofed vaults enrich. + Great cries of grief the trio uttered,-- + That is to say, they only muttered: + For every little merchant knows + That credit loves not traders' woes. + But, spite of every cautious plan, + The tale through all the city ran; + And now Duck, Bush, and Bat were seen + Ready to wear the bonnet green,[1] + Without or credit or resources, + For none would ope for them their purses. + All sorts of creditors daily arrived, + With bailiffs and writs; and the door scarce survived + The continual thrum + Of their creditors' glum; + And, of course, the Bush, Bat, and the Duck were intent + To find means this importunate crowd to content. + The Bush, with his thorns, caught the men that went by, + And said, with a sort of a pitiful cry, + "Pray, sirs, can you tell in what part of the sea + The wealth of myself and my partners may be?" + Whilst that diver, the Duck, plunging down out of sight, + Went to find them, he said, if he possibly might. + But the Bat, followed daily by bailiffs and duns, + At noon all the haunts of the human race shuns; + And, stricken with shame, to keep quite out of sight, + Hides in ruins all day, and flies only by night. + + Many a debtor have I known-- + Neither Bush, nor Bat, nor Duck-- + Who even had not such ill luck + As was upon this trio thrown, + But simple lords, who, shunning snares, + Sneaked always down by the back stairs. + + + [1] An allusion to an ancient custom, which allowed debtors + to be free of their creditors, if they would wear constantly a green + cap; the public disgrace being considered equivalent to a discharge in + full. + + + + [Illustration: THE EAGLE AND THE MAGPIE.] + + + + + FABLE CCXXI. + + + THE EAGLE AND THE MAGPIE. + + + The Eagle, queen of the broad sky, + Met, one day, in a field, the Pie-- + In mind and language different, + In plumage, and in every bent. + Chance brought them into a by way: + The Magpie was afraid to stay. + The Eagle, having dined but lately, + Assured her calmly and sedately. + "Come, let's be social," said the Eagle, then; + "And if the lord of gods and men + Sometimes is weary of the king + Who rules the universe, the thing + Is clear, that ennui may e'en vex + One who serves Jove. Amuse me!--come, + And chatter as you do at home; + It is not me you will perplex." + The Pie began at once to gabble + On this and that, on lords and rabble; + Just like the man in Horace--just, + Good, bad, indifferent, all on trust; + Talking incessant, and still worse + Than the poor fool in the famed verse. + She offers, if it please his grace, + To skip about, and watch each place + He wishes. Jove knows that the Pie + Was well constructed for a spy. + The eagle answers, angrily, + "Don't leave your home, my tattling friend. + Adieu! I have no wish to send + A gossip to corrupt my court, + And spread each lying, false report: + I hate a gossip." Quite content, + Maggy cared little where she went. + To dwell among the gods or kings + Is not the pleasantest of things; + That honour has its pangs also. + Detractors, spies, and many a foe, + Gracious and bland enough in face, + But false in heart, infest each place, + And make you odious. In courts wear + Coats of two colours, or take care. + + + + + FABLE CCXXII. + + + THE QUARREL OF THE DOGS AND THE CATS; AND, ALSO, THAT OF THE CATS + AND THE MICE. + + + Discord has always ruled this universe; + Our world of this could many facts rehearse. + This goddess over countless subjects reigns; + The elements not Jupiter himself restrains; + Nor these four potentates alone wage war: + In many races there's a ceaseless jar. + A house once, full of Dogs and Cats, grew free + Of strife, at last, by many a grave decree. + The master fixed their hours, and every meal, + And let the quarrelsome his horsewhip feel. + They live, at last, like cousins, almost brothers, + And furnish quite examples to all others. + At length peace ended;--some stray tempting bone, + Some broth, or little preference to one shown, + Made both belligerents half crazy run. + To plead the grievous injury that's done, + I've heard that learned writers of old law + Attribute this to some small legal flaw. + Be what it might, they both made angry claims, + And set the kitchen and the hall in flames. + Some loud for Dog and some for Cat cried out: + The Cats went mewing, the Dogs whined about. + They deafened every one. Cats' advocate + Referred to the decree; and the debate + Ceased at that word; but still they searched in vain + Where it was hid, and sought and sought again. + The Mice had eaten it; then, lo, once more + The Mice were sufferers--many, many a score + The old Cats swallowed--some, with cruel claws, + Expounded to the Mice their code of laws; + Laid ambuscades; caught them in many ways, + And from their master obtained food and praise. + <i>Mais à nos moutons.</i> Not beneath the skies + Lives there a creature without enemies. + 'Tis Nature's law; and how is purblind man + The secret of Gods mysteries to scan? + It is God's will; further I do not go: + We waste our time in trying but to know. + Man is, at sixty years, a wondering fool, + Fit to be whipped, and sent again to school. + + + [Illustration: LOVE AND FOLLY.] + + + + + FABLE CCXXIII. + + + LOVE AND FOLLY. + + + All is mysterious with Love,-- + His bow and arrow, torch, and wings. + 'Tis not a day's work in a grove. + To master these momentous things. + + Explain them my poor muse can not; + My object is but, in my way, + To tell of Cupid's wretched lot, + And how he lost the light of day. + + Whether that fate be ill or well + For those whom Cupid since has met, + Lovers alone can rightly tell: + I cannot, though I've felt his net. + + Folly and Love together played, + One day, before he lost his sight; + But yet, as people will, they strayed + From friendship, and got stung by spite. + + Disputes are really melancholy! + Love wanted all the gods and men + As umpires; but impatient Folly + Preferred it settled there and then; + + And gave poor Cupid such a blow, + That both his pretty eyes were seared. + For blessed sight gave blindness--lo! + Their heaven's blue brightness disappeared. + + His mother, Venus, heard his grief, + And cried for vengeance, like one mad, + On Jove and Nemesis,--in brief, + On gods of all kinds, good and bad. + + The case, she said, was very strong: + Her blind son would require a stick + And dog, to help him walk along. + Alas! for cruel Folly's trick. + + The gods poor Cupid's case discussed,-- + And boys and girls in love decide, + Decreeing that it's only just, + Folly should Love in future guide. + + + + + FABLE CCXXIV. + + + THE WOLF AND THE FOX. + + + How comes this general discontent? + Here is a man, for lack of wit, + Longing to live beneath the tent + The soldier's longing so to quit. + + A certain Fox aspired to be + A Wolf: and who's prepared to say + The Wolf may not think luxury + Consists in the lamb's peaceful play? + + It much surprises me to find + A poet prince, but eight years old, + Who writes prose of a better kind + Than I can verse--aye, twenty fold-- + Though long experience makes me bold. + + The thoughts throughout his fable spread + Are not a poet's work, I know. + They're numerous and better said; + Unto a prince the praise we owe. + + I play upon a simple pipe: + That is my talent--just to please; + But soon my hero, growing ripe, + The clarion will make me seize. + + I am no prophet, yet I read + The starry signs that promise give. + His glorious acts will Homer need; + Homer, alas! he does not live. + + The Fox said to the Wolf, one day, "My dear, + I have but old tough hens for my poor cheer! + One wearies of the food; but you feed well, + And with less hazard. I, where people dwell, + Slink round, while you keep prudently away. + Teach me your trade, my noble comrade, pray! + Make me the first of all my race who slew + A good fat sheep, and took him for a stew!" + "I shall not be ungrateful," the Wolf said; + "'Tis well, I have a brother newly dead; + Put on his skin." Fox took it, and obeyed. + The Wolf then bid him not to be afraid + Of all the mastiffs of the shepherds flock: + The Fox learnt of his maxims the whole stock, + First blundered much, then studied all he could, + And, lastly, well the precepts understood. + Just as he finished, there came passing by + A drove of sheep. He runs at them--they fly. + The new-made Wolf spreads terror everywhere; + And frightened bleatings fill the troubled air. + So in Achilles arms Patroclus came:-- + Mothers and old men shudder at his name. + The sheep see fifty wolves; and, in full cry, + Dogs, sheep, and shepherds to the village fly. + One only, as a hostage, left behind, + Is by the villain seized. Upon the wind, + Just then, came crow of lusty chanticleer: + The pupil snapped the fowl, and without fear, + Threw by his school-dress, all his task forgot, + And ran off, heedless of his future lot. + How useless was this counterfeiting then! + The changed suit hindered not the watchful men. + They follow in his track the self-same day, + And when they find him, they are quick to slay. + + From your unequalled mind my poor muse drew + The story and its moral, plain but true. + + + + + FABLE CCXXV. + + + THE CRAB AND ITS DAUGHTER. + + + Sages are often, like the crabs, inclined + To backward step, and leave their goal behind. + This is the sailor's art, and, now and then, + The artifice of deep, designing men, + Who feign the opposite of their intent, + To put their adversaries off the scent. + My subject is a trifle; but how wide + The field on which its morals may be tried! + Some general may conquer, should he heed it, + An army with a hundred chiefs to lead it. + His plans of march and counter-march may be + At first a secret, then a victory. + No use in prying, when he would conceal; + From Fate's decrees one cannot make appeal. + The tide grows insurmountable, at length; + Against a Jove the gods may waste their strength. + Louis and Fate seem partners now, in glory, + And draw the world along. But to my story. + + Said Mother Crab to Daughter Crab, one day, + "How <i>can</i> you step in such an ugly way? + Do try to go a little straighter, dear!" + The little Crab made answer, with a sneer, + "Look at yourself! It's very well to talk, + But it was you who taught me how to walk: + From you, and from your friends, I took my gait; + If they go crooked, how can I go straight?" + + She told the truth--for lessons that we learn + From family examples last the longest. + They teach us good and evil, in its turn; + And oft the latter lessons are the strongest. + As to the way of walking, let me add, + That turning backs has often merit in it + In war, for instance, it is far from bad, + If people do it at the proper minute. + + + + + FABLE CCXXVI. + + + THE FOREST AND THE WOODMAN. + + + A Woodman, with too strong a stroke, + The handle of his brave axe broke, + Broke it beyond repair; + For, though he ranged the Forest-side, + Of proper trees both far and wide + The scanty wood seemed bare. + Then to the sylvan gods he prayed. + That they his steps would sweetly guide + Unto the spot where they had made + That branch for which he sighed. + + To gain his bread himself he'd take + Far, far away; and, for their sake. + + + [Illustration: THE FOREST AND THE WOODMAN.] + + + Would spare both fir and oak. + "Respected are their charms and age, + And graceful in the poet's page"-- + 'Twas thus the Woodman spoke. + The innocent Forest gave the bough. + The Woodman hacked both oak and fir! + The groaning Forest soon found how + Her gift brought death to her. + + Behold the way the world doth spin. + Some men--say, politicians--win + A place: then bite their friend! + Of them I tire. But should dear trees + Bear such rude outrages as these, + And I not mourn their end? + In vain I sing: it is no use; + Although my dart stings where 'tis hurled. + Ingratitude and gross abuse + Are no less in the world. + + + + + FABLE CCXXVII. + + + THE FOX, THE FLIES, AND THE HEDGEHOG. + + + Wounded and weak, and dripping fast with blood, + A Fox crept wearily through mire and mud. + Quickly attracted by the hopeful sight, + A Fly--a restless, winged parasite-- + Came to show sympathy--and bite. + The Fox accused the gods on high, + Thought Fate had vexed him cruelly. + "Why attack me?--am I a treat? + When were the Foxes thought good meat? + I, the most nimble, clever beast, + Am I to be for flies a feast? + Now Heaven confound the paltry thing + So small, yet with so sharp a sting!" + A Hedgehog, hearing all his curses + (His first appearance in my verses), + Wished to set the poor beast free + Of the Flies' importunity. + "My neighbour," said the worthy soul, + "I'll use my darts, and slay the whole." + "For Heaven's sake!" poor Reynard says, + "Don't do it! Let them go their ways. + These animals are full, you see: + New ones will bite more greedily." + + Such torments in this land are seen,-- + Courtiers and magistrates, I mean. + Great Aristotle likens flies + To certain men; and he was wise. + But when such folk get full of gold, + They're less importunate, I'm told. + + + + + FABLE CCXXVIII. + + + THE HAWK, THE KING, AND THE FALCON. + + TO MONSEIGNEUR THE PRINCE DE CONTI. + + + As the gods are forgiving, they wish that the lords + Whom they send to rule over us creatures below, + Should control the proud use of their conquering swords, + And to subjects the mercies of charity show. + O Prince! 'tis well known that you think in this way + That you conquer your foes, but still pause ere you slay; + And in this, for you're one who no passions subdue, + Achilles, as hero, was far beneath you. + This title of hero, in fact, should belong + But to those who do good. This was always the case + In the ages of gold; but now absence from wrong + Of a very grave character gives men the place. + So far are you, Prince, from deserving this stain, + That for half your good actions you merit a fane. + Apollo, the poet, who dwells in the skies, + Sings already the praise of your name, 'tis believed; + Fast in heaven the walls of your mansion arise, + For of glory enough on the earth you've received. + May the sweetest of charms that god Hymen can give, + For you and the Princess, eternally live: + For you fully deserve it; in token of this + I will point to your gifts, both of riches and bliss. + To those qualities wondrous, which, owned but by few, + To grace your young years, Jove has lavished on you. + Your spirit, O Prince! with such grace is combined, + That which most to prize a sweet puzzle we find; + For, sometimes, esteem takes our homage by force, + And then love leaps in with impetuous course. + But to sing all your praises and merits were long; + So changing my key, in a far humbler song + I'll tell you a tale, how a fierce bird of prey + Assaulted a king, and got safely away. + 'Tis seldom falconers contrive + To take a new-fledged Hawk alive; + But one so taken, to a King + Was made a humble offering. + The bird, if true the story be, + No sooner saw his Majesty, + Than straight the Royal nose he clawed, + And then the Royal forehead gnawed. + "What! clutch a mighty monarch's nose? + He wore no crown, then, I suppose?" + Had he wore crown and sceptre, too, + 'Twere all the same, the creature flew, + And King's nose clawed, like common nose. + Of course, an uproar loud arose, + Such as my verse could scarce describe, + From all the startled courtier tribe. + The King alone was calm and cool: + For calmness is with kings a rule. + The bird kept his place, and could not be persuaded + To vacate the strange throne he'd so roughly invaded. + His master, in vain, with threats and with cries, + Showed him his fist, but he would not rise. + And it seemed, at length, as though the bird-- + Insolent creature!--would cling to that feature + Until the next morning's chimes were heard. + The greater the efforts to make him let go, + The deeper he dug in each keen-pointed toe. + At length he relaxed, of his own fickle will; + Then the King said to those round about, "Do not kill + The poor bird, nor the falconer trouble, for each, in + His several way, has obeyed Nature's teaching:-- + The one has just proved himself falconer good, + And the other a real savage thing of the wood. + And I, knowing well that kings clement should be, + Grant both full pardon: so let them go free." + Of course, the courtiers all declared + That such great mercy ne'er was shown; + And had the trouble been their own, + Nor man nor bird would have been spared. + Few kings indeed had acted so, + And let the woodman freely go. + They 'scaped right well; but boor and bird + In nothing in this matter erred, + But only this, that, woodland-bred, + They had not learnt enough to dread + The neighbourhood of courts; but this small lapse + May be excused in such poor folk, perhaps. + The following story Pilpay places + Where Ganges nourishes dusk races; + Where man ne'er dares to spill the blood + Of any living thing for food; + "For how can we tell," they say, "that + This creature was not present at + The siege of Troy--a hero, then-- + And that he'll not be so again? + For we Pythagoreans are, + And think that different forms we bear + At different seasons--pigeon now, + And then a hawk, and next a cow. + At present we are men; and so + Through every change of form we go." + + The tale of that bold bird who clutched the King + Is told two ways. The second now I'll sing. + A woodman that, by luck or wit, + A Hawk had seized, went off with it, + To lay it at his monarch's feet. + Such captures we but seldom meet-- + Once in a hundred years; indeed, + 'Tis written in the falconer's creed + That woodman who a Hawk can catch + In nest, is any woodman's match. + Through all the crowd of courtiers, then, + Our huntsman, happiest of men, + Thrust with his prize, at last secure + His fortune now was firm and sure. + But, just as he had reached the throne, + Seized with a rage before unknown, + The savage bird, untamed as yet, + In spite of chained foot, turned and set + His claws deep in his master's nose. + All laughed, as you may well suppose-- + The courtiers and the monarch, too; + Such very comic sight to view, + I'd give a crown, though it were new. + If Popes may laugh, I'm not quite sure + But kings could not their lives endure, + If they might laugh not--'tis divine; + And Jove, though mostly saturnine, + With all his comrades, laughs, at times, + Enough to shake these earthly climes. + And Jove laughed loudest when, I think, + Poor hobbling Vulcan gave him drink. + Whether or no, 'tis well arranged + That gods should laugh, my subject's changed, + With reason; for 'tis time to ask + What moral lies beneath the mask + Of falconer unfortunate? + This simple lesson I will state:-- + To every land each cycle brings + More foolish woodmen than good kings. + + + [Illustration: THE FOX AND THE TURKEYS.] + + + + + FABLE CCXXIX. + + + THE FOX AND THE TURKEYS. + + + Against a Fox, a tree served well + The Turkeys for a citadel. + The cunning rascal made the round, + And sentries at each opening found. + "What! these fools mock me, then?" he cried, + "And at the common lot deride? + Forbid it, gods! forbid it, pride!" + And this vow of his chivalry + He soon performed, as you will see. + The moon came just then shining out, + As if the Turkeys' foes to rout; + But he, no novice in assault + Like this, was not, of course, at fault; + And from his bag of schemes so sly + Drew one, to trap the weak and shy. + He feigns to climb, with rampant paws, + And next apes death, with close-fixed jaws. + He then revives, resuscitated: + No harlequin so much elated: + Raises his tail, and makes it shine, + And in the moonlight glitter fine. + No single Turkey dares to sleep, + But ceaseless, tiring watch they keep. + Worn out, they try their eyes to fix + Upon their foeman's wicked tricks; + At last, half giddy, one by one + Fall headlong, and his game is done. + He puts them carefully aside, + Till nearly half of them have died; + Then the bold rascal quickly bore + Away the heap, to fill his store. + + If dangers we too closely heed, + 'Tis ten to one they come indeed. + + + + + FABLE CCXXX. + + + THE CROW, THE GAZELLE, THE TORTOISE, AND THE RAT. + + TO MADAME DE LA SABLIÈRE. + + + I By means of verse, would raise + A temple to your lasting praise. + Already its foundations lie + Based on that art which comes from high, + And on the name of her whose fame + Adoring clouds shall there proclaim. + I'd write above its portal-stones, + "This fane the goddess Iris owns;" + But not the Iris who for Juno + Goes out with messages, as you know; + A different Iris, whom the lord + Of gods, and Juno, too, were glad + To serve, if they her summons had, + When she such honour would accord. + Th' Apotheosis placed on high + Should show the people of the sky + My Iris to a throne conducting,-- + A throne of sunlight's sole constructing. + In frescoes, on the panels placed, + Should all her life's sweet tale be traced; + A charming story, and one far + Remote from all the tales of war. + Deep in the Temple's chief recess + A painting should in part express + Her form, her features, her bright smiles, + And all the thousand artless wiles + By which she gods and men beguiles. + Low at her feet should there be shown + All the great men the world may own, + Great demi-gods besides, and even + The natural habitants of heaven; + For certain 'tis that they to whom + Men pray, to Iris burn perfume. + The artist's care should chiefly be + To make her eyes her soul express. + But, ah! to paint her tenderness + 'Twere all in vain to try; may be + No art upon the earth resides + Which for a task like this provides, + To paint a soul in which combine + Man's strength with graces feminine. + O Iris! you who charm us all, + Before whose heavenly grace we fall, + You whom before ourselves we prize + (But, mind, I am not making love, + For love's a word you don't approve), + Yet even from this rough sketch may + A better likeness rise, some day. + The project of your sacred building + I've just for artist-purpose filled in + The foreground of a story which + Is so with rare-found friendship rich, + That, haply, it may favour find + With one that is so good and kind. + Of friendship monarchs seldom dream + But he who gains your heart's esteem + Is not a king devoid of love; + No, he your gentle thoughts approve + Is a brave mortal, who would give + His life, that some dear friend might live. + + A Rat, a Gazelle, and a Tortoise and Crow + Lived together as friends, in a desolate place; + And, as they took care to indulge in no show, + Man failed for some time the companions to trace. + But, alas! for poor beasts there's no safety from man, + Whatever concealment their instincts may plan; + To the heart of the desert, the depths of the sea, + Or to heaven's own vault, 'tis in vain that they flee. + The Gazelle, one sad day, was at innocent play, + When a dog--cruel dogs! whom the men treat as brothers, + Though beasts, to assist them to capture the others-- + Unluckily snuffed at her scent, and, pursuing, + Led on his fierce master, to cause her undoing. + When dinner came that day, the Rat + Said, "What can Miss Gazelle be at? + She surely dreads some new attacks, + Or else our friendship's bonds relax!" + "Ah!" then the Tortoise, sighing, cried, + "If Heaven wings would but provide, + Such as our Crow has, I would fly, + And all around the country spy, + To find what accidents withhold + Our friend. Her heart's as good as gold." + The Crow, without a word, took flight, + And soon had poor Gazelle in sight, + Tied up with cords against a tree, + A hapless piece of misery. + At once the Crow, without a pause, + Flies back, nor seeks to probe the cause, + The whys, the wherefores, or the when + Which make Gazelles the prey of men. + Nor loses time, for action meant, + In a pedantic argument. + The Crow's report was duly heard, + And then the Crow a vote preferred + That two should speed, without delay, + To where their friend in bondage lay, + But that the Tortoise, lying still, + Should serve the counter,--guard the till; + For, whilst the Tortoise' step is slow, + Gazelles die quickly, as we know. + The words were scarcely said, when forth + The angry Crow and Rat went north, + To where their dark-eyed, dear Gazelle + Lay, victim of man's purpose fell. + The Tortoise, also, not behind-hand + To lend to any one a kind hand, + Toiled thither, also, grimly swearing + That he his house must still be bearing. + Arrived at the place where the Deer was confined, + Sir <i>Gnaw-net</i> (the Rat is so properly named) + At once set his teeth the hard cordage to grind, + And in less than two minutes the friend was reclaimed + The hunter coming up just then, + Cursed like a thousand sporting men; + And Master Rat, with prudence fraught, + A cozy hole directly sought, + Whilst Crow swam safely up to tree, + And dear Gazelle in woods ran free. + Just then the hunter, in a state + Of hunger most disconsolate, + Perceived the Tortoise on his path, + And, thereupon, subdued his wrath. + "Why should I," said he, "vex myself? + This beast will grace my supper-shelf." + And thus the hapless Tortoise soon + Had been condemned to knife and spoon, + Had not the Crow the dear Gazelle + Taught how to act the lame man well. + The timid deer, with halting feet, + Went forth, the hunter's eyes to meet. + The man threw off, without delay, + All that his eager steps might stay-- + The Tortoise, with some other things. + Of course the Rat undid the strings + That held the bag where Tortoise lay, + And all four friends got safe away! + + 'Tis Pilpay that has told this tale; + And if upon the god of song + I chose to call, I might prolong + This quadrupedal history, + And write another Odyssey. + And if, to please you, I should take + This work upon me, I should make + The Rat the hero; yet, 'tis true + That each had work, and did it, too. + The Tortoise, though with mansion weighted, + The case in point so clearly stated, + That Master Crow at once took wing, + To spy the land, and message bring; + Whilst dear Gazelle, with female cunning, + Before the hunter lamely running, + Gave to Sir Gnaw-cord time to bite + The strings which held the Tortoise tight. + So each one, in his several way, + Fought a good fight, and won the day. + On whom shall we the prize bestow? + On the good heart, as you'll allow. + What will not friendship dare for those + On whom its gentle tendrils close? + That other feeling, love, is not, + Compared with friendship, worth a jot; + Although, to tell the truth, its pains + Distract my heart, and fill my strains. + It is Love's gentle sister you + Protect, and I'll adore her, too; + And, blending Friendship with your name, + Throughout the world her joys proclaim. + + + [Illustration: THE ENGLISH FOX.] + + + + + FABLE CCXXXI. + + + THE ENGLISH FOX. + + TO MADAME HARVEY. + + + A good heart is in you with sense allied, + And scores of other qualities, well tried; + A nobleness of soul and mind, to guide + Both men and things; a temper frank and free. + In friendship firm, though tempests there may be. + All this deserves, we know, a pompous praise: + But pomp displeases you; so I'll not raise + My voice, but simple be, and brief. I would + Insert a word of flattery, if I could, + About the country that you love so dear. + The English are profound: in this their mind + Follows their temperament, as oft we find. + Deep, deep they dig for truth, and without end + The empire of the sciences extend. + I write not this to win good will from you; + Your nation are deep searchers, it is true. + Even your dogs, they say, have keener scent than ours; + Your foxes are of craftier mental powers: + I'll prove it, by an artful stratagem, + The most ingenious ever planned by them. + A wicked Reynard, chased quite out of breath + By the untiring dogs, and dreading death, + Saw a tall gallows, where dead badgers hung, + And owls and foxes were together strung-- + Cruel examples for the passer-by! + Reynard in ambuscade prepared to lie, + Like Hannibal, who, when the Romans chased, + Baffled their armies, and their spies disgraced. + Old Fox this was! his enemies soon ran + To where he lay for dead. The barking clan + Filled all the air with clamour long and loud. + The master whipped away the noisy crowd: + The trick deceived him. "Come, you dogs!" he cried, + "Some puppy's saved the rascal, who ne'er tried + To climb the gibbet where such honest folk + Repose. Some day, he'll find the gallows a rough joke, + Much to his loss." And, while the dogs give tongue, + Back to his larder goes the Fox just hung. + Another day he'll try the self-same plan, + And leave his brush and four paws with the man. + Tricks won't do twice. The hunter ne'er had thought + Of such a scheme, had he been nearly caught, + Not from the want of wit, at all, you see, + For who can say the English want <i>esprit?</i> + But their contempt for life has often led + To evil in such dangers, it is said. + + And now I once more turn to you,-- + Not for more flattery. 'Tis true + All long eulogium does but tire: + I, a poor player on the lyre, + With flattering songs, and little verse, + Amuse the mighty universe, + Or win a distant nation's praise. + Your Prince once said, in former days, + He valued very far above + All studied praise one word of love. + Accept the humble gift I bring, + Last efforts that I mean to sing: + But poor indeed, and all unformed, + Yet were they by new fervour warmed, + Could you but make this homage known + To her who fills your country's zone + With sprites from Cytherea's isle; + I speak (you know it by your smile) + Of Mazarin, Jove dear to thee, + And Cupid's sovereign deity. + + + + + FABLE CCXXXII. + + + THE APE. + + + There was a certain Ape in Paris: + Like many another Ape, he marries. + He chose a wife; and then, like some + Bad husbands, beat her deaf and dumb-- + Aping their ways. The poor soul sighed, + And, after that, at last she died. + Their infant cries, but cries in vain, + And sorrows, o'er and o'er again. + The father laughs: his wife is dead, + And he has other loves instead, + Whom he will also beat, I trow; + He's often drunk, that well I know. + From one who's aping others look + For nothing good; whether a book + He makes, or work performs. Yes, all, + Upon whichever one you fall, + Are bad--the author ape the worst, + And of all monkey creatures first. + + + + + FABLE CCXXXIII. + + + THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE HORSE. + + + A Fox, still young, though rather sly, + Saw, first time in his life, a Horse. + Just then a stupid Wolf passed by, + And Reynard saw a game, of course. + + "Come, see this thing that's feeding near; + He's grand. I view him with delight! + Is he more strong than us, my dear? + Think you with both of us he'd fight?" + + Replied the Wolf, with laughter--"Now + Draw me his portrait: then I'll tell." + The Fox said, "Could I write, or show + On canvas all his beauties well, + + "Your pleasure would be great indeed. + But, come--what say you? He may be + Some easy prey, on whom we'll feed, + By Fortune sent to you and me." + + The Horse, still feeding on the plain, + Scarce curious to see the pair, + Planned flying with his might and main, + For wolves have tricks that are unfair. + + The sly Fox said, "Your servants, sir; + We wish to know your name." The Horse + Had brains; so said, "My shoemaker + Has put it round my shoe, of course. + + "Read, if you can. There is my name." + The Fox had store of craft in need: + He cried, "My parents were to blame; + They taught me not to write or read. + + 'Tis only mighty wolves who learn + To read: they read things in a breath!" + Our flattered Wolf here made a turn; + But vanity cost him his teeth! + + The clever Horse, as he drew near, + Held high his hoof: his plan he saw. + It cost the reading Wolf most dear,-- + Down came the hoof upon his jaw. + + With broken bones, and bloody coat, + Upon the ground the poor Wolf lay. + "Brother," the Fox said, "only note + The truth that we've heard people say. + + "With wisdom, what had been your case? + No pain would need to be discussed. + This Horse has stamped upon your face + That 'unknown things wise men mistrust.'" + + + + + FABLE CCXXXIV. + + + THE LEAGUE OF THE RATS. + + + A Mouse, in very deadly fear + Of an old Cat, that kept too near + A certain passage, being wise + And shrewd, went straight, without disguise, + To ask a neighbour Rat, whose house + Was close to that of Mister Mouse. + The Rat's domains, so fair and snug, + Were under a large mansion dug. + This Rat a hundred times had sworn + He feared no Cat that yet was born; + Both tooth and paw he held in scorn. + + + [Illustration: THE LEAGUE OF THE RATS.] + + + "Dame Mouse," the lying boaster cried, + "<i>Ma foi!</i> how can I, ma'am, decide + Alone? I cannot chase the Cat, + But call and gather every Rat + That's living near. I have a trick;-- + In fact, at nothing I will stick." + The Mouse, she curtsied humbly; then + The Rat ran off to call his men, + Unto the office, pantry named, + Where many rats (not to be blamed) + Were feasting at their host's expense, + With very great magnificence. + He enters, troubled--out of breath. + "What have you done?--you're pale as death," + Says one. "Pray, speak." Says he, "Alas! + Friend Mouse is in a pretty pass, + And needs immediate help from you. + Raminagrobis, in my view, + Spreads dreadful carnage everywhere. + This Cat, this hideous monstrous Cat, + If Mice are wanting, calls for Rat." + They all cry out, "'Tis true! to arms!" + And some, they say, 'mid war's alarms, + Shed tears; but no one stops behind: + They all are of the self-same mind. + They pack up cheese in scrip and bag; + No single nibbler dares to lag. + With mind content, and spirit gay, + It is to them a holiday. + The Cat, meanwhile, quite free from dread, + Has gripped the Mouse by its wee head. + At charging pace the Rats, at last, + Come; but the Cat still holds it fast, + And, growling, faces the whole band. + At this grim sound the Rats, off hand, + With prudence, make a swift retreat, + Fearing their destiny to meet. + Each hurries to his humble hole, + Nor seeks again the warrior's goal. + + + + + FABLE CCXXXV. + + + A SCYTHIAN PHILOSOPHER. + + + A Philosopher once, who, in Scythia born, + Had somewhat, with study, his brain-pan outworn, + Made his mind up, for pleasure and profit, to seek + Repose for a time in the land of the Greek; + And there he made friends with a man of the kind + Whom Virgil so well in the Georgics defined: + A man who's a king, for himself he controls, + And a god, for he blends his own will with men's souls. + He found him with pruning-knife grasped in his hand, + Pruning here, snipping there, in all parts of his land, + As tranquil as Jove; here he cut off a twig, + There lopped off a branch to make others more big; + For Nature, experience had taught him, is prone + To waste in rash gifts all the wealth of her throne. + The Scythian, brought up in town, was downcast, + And looked at the ruinous waste quite aghast, + And exclaimed, "My dear friend, lay your pruning + hook down, + And let Nature, judicious, take care of her own; + For, at best, you are taking much pains to deflower + The fruits which Time's tooth will but too soon devour." + The old man replied, with a rustical grace, + "I cut useless ones off to give useful ones space." + Struck by wisdom like this, with no moments delay, + The Scythian homewards at once took his way; + And no sooner had got there but took up a bill, + And at cutting and hewing showed wonderful skill: + Hewed branches, snipped twigs, and persuaded his + neighbours + To share in his rude horticultural labours. + The result is soon told: hacking trees without reason, + In summer or spring--taking no thought of season-- + Must lead to results which no words can belie; + For the trees thus instructed instinctively die. + Now, the Scythian stands for a symbol of those + Who wish all the pathways of pleasure to close; + Who'd hoot at ambition, forbid a new dress, + And from lexicons banish the sweet word, <i>caress.</i> + For myself, though by custom not given to swearing, + I'll say that, by Jove, such old dolts there's no bearing; + They wish us to choke whilst we've plenty of breath, + And whilst full of life's vigour to simulate death. + + + + + FABLE CCXXXVI. + + + DAPHNIS AND ALCIMADURA. + + (<i>An Imitation of Theocritus.</i>) + + TO MADAME DE LA MESANGERE. + + + Amiable daughter of a mother fair, + For whom a thousand hearts are torn with care; + Yours are the hearts whom friendship holds in fee, + And those that Love keeps firm in fealty. + This preface I divide 'tween her and you, + The brightest essence of Parnassus dew. + I have the secret to perfume for you + More exquisitely sweet. I'll tell thee, then; + But I must choose, or I shall fail again: + + + [Illustration: DAPHNIS AND ALCIMADURA.] + + + My lyre and voice will need more power and skill; + Let me, then, praise alone a heart that's still + Full of all noble sentiments,--the grace, the mind, + Which need no master but the one we find + Blooming above you. Guard those roses well, + And do not let the thorns o'ergrow, <i>ma belle</i>. + Love will the same thing say, and better, too; + Those who neglect him, Cupid makes to rue: + As you shall see. Alcimadure the fair + Despised the god who rules the earth and air. + Fierce and defiant, she roam'd through the wood, + Ran o'er the meadows, danced as none else could, + Obeyed caprice alone,--of beauty queen, + Most cruel of the cruel; she had been + For long beloved by Daphnis: of good race + Was the poor lad, who doated on her face,-- + Loved for her very scorn--nay, more, I vow, + Than had she loved him with an equal glow; + Yet not a look she gave, nor word to cheer, + Nor his complaints would ever even hear. + Weary of the pursuit, prepared to die, + Down at her door despair had made him lie. + Alack! he wooed the winds;--she, blithe and gay, + Still kept her door shut,--'twas her natal day; + And to her beauty's throne she spread fair flowers, + The treasures of the garden, and spring hours. + "I hoped before your very eyes," he cried, + "Had I not been so hateful, to have died. + How can I wonder that you do deny + This last sad pleasure of fidelity? + My father I have charged my heritage + To offer at your feet: the pasturage, + And all my flocks,--my dog, of dogs the best; + And my companions will, then, with the rest, + Found a small temple, where continually + Your image, crowned with flowers, shall ever be. + My simple monument shall be near it, + And this inscription on the stone I've writ-- + 'Of love poor Daphnis died. Stop, passer by! + Weep, and say he was slain by cruelty + Of fair Alcimadura.'" The Fates at last + Cut the thin thread, and his vexed spirit passed. + The cruel maiden came forth, proud and gay: + In vain her friends beseech her but to stay + A moment, on the course to shed one tear; + She still insulted Cupid, without fear: + Bringing that very evening o'er the plain, + To dance around the statue, all her train. + The image fell, and crushed her with its weight. + Then from the cloud thus spoke the voice of Fate: + "Love, and delay not: the hard heart is dead." + The shade of Daphnis raised its pallid head, + And on the banks of Styx stood shuddering; + While all vast Erebus, with wondering, + Heard to the shepherd the fair homicide + Excuse her cruelty and foolish pride. + But as to phantom Ajax Ulysses sued, + And Dido's death the guilty lover rued, + So from the maiden's shadow turned the swain, + And did not words of mercy to her deign. + + + + + FABLE CCXXXVII. + + + THE ELEPHANT AND JUPITER'S MONKEY. + + + An Elephant had words, one day, + With a Rhinoceros, they say. + They settled they would fight it out. + But, while the matter was about, + Jove's Monkey, like a Mercury, came: + Giles was, historians say, his name. + The Elephant, a brute ambitious, + Was pleased to find the heaven propitious. + Eager for fame, he smiled to see + So dignified an embassy. + But Giles, though wise in all essentials, + Is slow presenting his credentials. + At length he comes to pay respect, + Yet still shows somewhat of neglect; + Speaks not a word: no single mention + Of the great deities' attention. + What care those living in the skies + If perish Elephants or flies? + The potentate's compelled to speak: + "My cousin, Jupiter, this week + Will see, from his Olympic throne, + A pretty combat, as he'll own; + And his Court, too, will see it partly." + "What combat?" said the Monkey, tartly. + "Pooh!" said the Elephant; "you know + 'Bout the Rhinoceros, and the blow; + 'Tis property that we dispute. + In a long, tedious Chancery suit + Elephantor and Rhinocere + Are warring, as you've heard up there." + "I'm pleased to learn their names, good sir," + Said Master Giles; "but, King, you err + If you think we of such things heed." + The Elephant, surprised indeed, + Said, "Who, then, come you now to aid?" + "I come to part a blade of grass + Between some ants. To every class + Our cares of sovereignty extend. + As for your wars, my noble friend, + The gods have not heard of them yet; + Or, if they have, they do forget. + The small and great are, in Jove's eye, + Guarded with like equality." + + + + + FABLE CCXXXVIII. + + + THE MADMAN AND THE PHILOSOPHER. + + + A Certain Madman, as the story goes, + Threw stones at a Philosopher, one day. + The latter said, "My friend, I don't suppose + You care to work so hard, without your pay. + Here, take this crown; how deeply I regret + I cannot better recompense your trouble! + Go, pelt yon gentleman, and you may get + A larger sum--perhaps as much as double." + Pleased at the chance, our fool begins to throw + Big stones at a patrician; but, instead + Of giving gold, the lackeys mauled him so, + That they departed leaving him half dead. + + Such fools there are in kingly courts, + Who raise the laugh at your expense; + But can you check their silly sports, + Or stop their loud impertinence? + If any words or any blows + Of yours are powerless to hush them, + Just get them to be rude to those + Who have sufficient force to crush them. + + + + + FABLE CCXXXIX. + + + THE FROGS AND THE SUN. + + + The daughters of the mud obtained + Help from the star-king, while he reigned. + Nor war, nor any like disaster, + Could harm them under such a master. + His empire was the most serene! + The pond-queens (Frogs, I really mean: + For why not give their honourable name?) + Against their benefactors plotted; shame, + Imprudence, pride, and base ingratitude, + Good Fortunes children, roused the restless brood. + They could not sleep a wink (to trust their cry): + They would have stirred the world to mutiny + Against the eye of nature--the great sun. + It had begun to burn them: he must run + To arms, and gather all his powerful band, + Or he'd be driven from his own fair land. + The croaking embassies would go + Through all the regions, to and fro, + To make the whole world hear their case, + And gather pity from each place. + All the world seemed bent on this, + That four marshes took amiss. + Still this rash complaint went on: + Still this grumbling at the sun. + Yet in vain the noise and riot,-- + Frogs must, after all, be quiet; + For, if the sun is once inflamed, + They will very soon be tamed, + And the Frog Republic will + Find they've calculated ill. + + + + + FABLE CCXL. + + + THE ARBITRATOR, ALMONER, AND HERMIT. + + + Three saints, by holy fervour fired, + To gain the heights of heaven aspired; + But, as the well-known proverb says, + Rome can be reached by various ways, + So these by different methods planned + To gain the shores of Canaan's land. + One, touched by the expense and care + Which luckless suitors have to bear, + Offered cases to determine + Without a fee, or wig, or ermine. + Since human laws were first began, + Lawsuits have been the curse of man; + Absorbing half, three-fourths, or all + Of days which, at the best, are small. + To cure a state of things so vicious, + Our Umpire thought his plan judicious. + The second of our saints declares + The sick sole object of his cares; + And I praise him: in truth, to me + This seems the truest charity. + But sick men, troublous then, as now, + Our good man vexed enough, I vow. + Capricious, restless, petulant, + Each moment brings a separate want; + And, if no other fault they find, + They cry, "To such and such he's kind: + Spends all his days and nights in caring + For them, and leaves us here despairing." + But these complaints were small to those + Which harassed, every day, the heart + Of him who, well-intentioned, chose + To act the Arbitrator's part. + The plaintiff and defendant, both, + T' adopt his sentences were loth; + And swore, with all their might and main, + His partiality was plain. + By such abuse as this disgusted, + The Umpire and the Almoner + Each unto each his woes entrusted; + And each agreed he could not bear + To be so shamefully mistrusted. + This being so, they sought a glade + Which neither suns nor winds invade, + And there, beneath a rugged mountain, + Beside a clear and babbling fountain, + They found their friend the Hermit saint; + So each one having made his plaint, + Asked his advice. "Your own pursue," + Replied their friend; "for who but you + Can know your several wants? To know + One's self makes gods of man below. + And let me ask you, have you found + This knowledge where vast crowds abound? + No; trust me, it can only be + The fruit of sweet tranquillity. + Shake but the water in your vase, + And you no longer see your face; + But let it once more still remain, + And straight your likeness comes again. + 'Midst worldly scenes you'll never learn + The love for which we all should yearn. + Believe me, friends, the desert's best + For him who'd study his own breast." + + To each the Hermit's words seemed good, + And, henceforth, each one sought the wood. + + Of course, there's always work to do, + Whilst men still sicken, and still sue, + For lawyers and for doctors; and + They'll never perish from the land, + Thank mighty Jove, as long as fees + And honours greet their services. + But in such common toils the mind + Can seldom its true likeness find. + Oh, you, who give your lives away, + And serve the public every day,-- + You, princes, judges, magistrates, + Exposed to all the angry fates, + + + [Illustration: THE ARBITRATOR, ALMONER AND HERMIT.] + + + Who, when no other ill oppresses, + Are slain by Judas-like caresses,-- + To you yourselves are all unknown; + And if some moment is your own, + For self-reflection, ere it flies + 'Tis spoilt by hateful flattery's lies. + + This lesson shall conclude these pages; + May it be blessed to future ages! + To Kings I give it, to the wise commend: + How could my volume better end? + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Fables of La Fontaine, by Jean de la Fontaine + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 50316 *** |