FABLE CVIII.
THE STAG VIEWING HIMSELF IN THE STREAM.
Beside a fountain in the woodA royal Stag admiring stood:His antlers pleased him well.But one thing vexed him to the heart:His slender legs ill matched the partOn 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."
THE STAG VIEWING HIMSELF IN THE STREAM.
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 browThe foolish creature praised just nowHe 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 sentA dangerous gift. We all repentSpeeches 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 seenNothing at all, was at his setting outAlmost snapped up; and what his fears had beenHe 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 drewLike 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, ranAnd fled for fear, cursing the evil creature;As, but for him, I should have found a planTo 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 waistHe wore it, and they cried, "Well placed!"He was elected. Each one paidTheir 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 pleasureTo 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,Wouldnotkeep 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 bringA fool to his senses—a very good thing—It's sent for a purpose, and always will beUseful to some one or something, you see.
FABLE CXII.
THE OLD MAN AND THE ASS.
An Old Man, riding on a Donkey, sawA 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'dNipping 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."
THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE SERPENT.
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 dayAround his farm, found by the wayA 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 beOf 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 rolledIts swelling body, fold on fold;Then tried to leap, and spring, and biteIts benefactor;—was that right?"Ungrateful!" cried the man; "then IWill give you now your due—you die!"With righteous anger came the blowFrom 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 dieIn 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 placeSo 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 wereIs 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 raceWith such a thing is but disgrace.She, in the meanwhile, strives and strains,And takes most meritorious pains;Slow, yet unceasing. Still the HareHolds it a very mean affairTo start too soon; but when, at last,The winning-post is almost pastBy 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: lightI 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 heNeeded 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,
THE SICK LION AND THE FOX.
THE SICK LION AND THE FOX.
Whether against tooth or claw.The Prince's will to executeGoes 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 justIf I feel somewhat of distrust.Our sick King's courtiers may dispenseWith passports, for they're full of sense.Granted, no doubt; and yet I craveThey'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 FateOf 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 wellTo 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 gotA 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 stallReceives him. Still complaints, andquantum suff."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 oneThat's not content? Have I no other thingsTo 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 loudFrom 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,
THE CARTER STUCK IN THE MUD.
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 readilyYour 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 meatHe 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 luredA Lark; when, suddenly, it came to passA Sparrow Hawk, of its sweet prey assured,Dropped from the cloud, and struck swift to the groundThe gentlest bird that sings; though near the tomb,She had escaped the trap; yet now she foundBeneath 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 soughtTo do." The man replied, "This helpless thingHad 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 loadOn 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 nightThey 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 vauntHe could cheat Acheron; in white and blackAnother boasted o'er the town that, lo!He was another Cicero.One of these fellows claimed a masteryOf 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 madeAccept a sum, for twenty years to teachThe 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 goAnd see him at the gibbet; he'd such graceAnd 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 fellIn the one form of those grand CicerosVulgarly 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,
THE YOUNG WIDOW.
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 wayOf 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 backCame 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 entangledAbout an apple—how they wrangled!—Was driven from the skies at last,And to that animal came fastThat they call Man; her brother, too,"Whether or no," who long'd to viewOur ball of earth. Her father came—Old "Thine and Mine"—the very same.She did much honour to our sphereBy longing so much to be here;She cared not for the other raceWho 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 callScandal 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 foundNo refuge certain above ground,And often lost her precious time:She must have shelter in this clime—A point from whence she could send forthDiscord, 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'dAt last, and suited Scandal's mind.
FABLE CXXV.
THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE.
A Malady that Heaven sentOn 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-dovesForget their little harmless loves.The Lion, calling counsel, spoke—"Dear friends, upon our luckless crownHeaven misfortune has sent down,For some great sin. Let, then, the worstOf 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 casesFor patriotism there a place is.No self-deception;—plain and flatSearch 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 IHave done; for justice would let dieThe guiltiest one." The Fox replied—"You are too good to thus decide.
THE ANIMAL SICK OF THE PLAGUE.
THE ANIMAL SICK OF THE PLAGUE.
Your Majesty's kind scruples showToo much of delicacy. NoWhat! 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 allThe 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 roseIn arms, nor waited for the close.A Wolf, half lawyer, made a speech,And proved this creature wrong'd them eachAnd all, and they must sacrificeThis scurvy wretch, who to his eyesWas steep'd in every wickedness.Doom'd to the rope, without redress,"Hang him at once! What! go and eatAn 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 payTheir 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 intentMost deadly; they, without a crown,Had been obliged to fly,—so indigentWas the assailed republic. Little askThe scared ambassadors—the succour sure,In a few days: the loan was no hard task."My friend," the hermit cried. "I can endureNo 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 appetiteTo calmly wait:—he had his stated hours:He lived by rule. At last, there came in sightSome 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 moreReturned. 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 areThe 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 knowIn 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-headedAlone 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 goalsTo 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 sentBefore 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,par force,Weary of all this squabble, and the sting,Sends her back to the country and her friends,—Phillis, who drives the turkeys, and the menWho 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 careThat vexed me was to see the vile pretenceOf industry. Why, those base, lazy patchesLet the herds starve;—not one of them has senseTo do their proper work, except by snatches.""Come, madam," cried the husband in a rage,"If you're so peevish that folk out all dayWeary of you, and long to see the stageThat 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 powerBy night and day? Adieu! May I be hungIf I again recall you from the farm;Or if I do, may I atone the sinBy having Pluto's gloomy realms withinTwo wives like you, a shrew for either arm."
FABLE CXXIX.
THE MAIDEN.
A certain Maiden, somewhat proud,A husband sought from out the crowdOf suitors. Handsome he's to be, and bold,Agreeable, young, and neither coldNor 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 callLovers of rank and eminence.She thought them mean and wanting sense—"What! I accept such people? Pish!