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 essayTo 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 breathWith courage, and laughed withinHimself 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 sandBorder 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 willBattle with words, not sticks.
THE TORRENT AND THE RIVER.
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 allThe 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 wrongWith 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 trueThat one heart holds but of either few;And not more than once in an age we seeThe 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 moreWill 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 usIs, 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 passAnd gorge us on that savoury Ass."With haste the Mastiffs now beganTo quaff the river as it ran;But, well-a-day! it came to passThat, 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, seekTo learn all science,—Hebrew, Greek!In short, we most of us agree,'Tis easy work to drain the sea!A mortal man, to carry outThe projects of his single soul,Would need four bodies, strong and stout,
THE TWO DOGS AND THE DEAD ASS.
THE TWO DOGS AND THE DEAD ASS.
And then would not complete the whole.For, even should his life extendTo twice Methuselah's, dependTen thousand years would find him stillWhere he began—the totalnil.
FABLE CLXIII.
THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING CLEVER.
Between two citizens there onceArose a quarrel furious;The one was poor, but full of knowledgeRipe, and rare, and curious;The other had not been to college,And was, though rich, a perfect dunce.He, far too fondly oft proclaimingThe items of his hoarded pelf,Declared that learned men but came inA rank far underneath himself.The man was quite a fool, and ICan never understand the whyOr wherefore wealth alone should placeA man above the learned race.The rich one to the wise one said,Full often, "Is your table spreadAs well as mine? And if not, tellWhat boots it that you read so well?Night after night you sadly clamberTo the dull third-floor's backmost chamber;And in December's cold you wearWhat 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 fateOf this or any other State,If all were there like you, and ISpent 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 worksChiefly to use the knives and forksOf rich financiers, get your meedOf what you call ourhoardedgreed."These foolish words, need scarce be said,Simply contemptuous answer had.The wise man had too much to sayIn answer, and so went away.But, worse than sarcasm, the swordOf rough invader met the hoardOf him who had the wealth: the townIn which he dwelt was toppled down.They left the city, and the oneWho ignorant was [was] soon undone,And met all men's contempt; whilst heWho knew the sciences was freeOf 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 slainA Stag of ten, beheld a Doe;So, having taken aim again,Upon the green sward laid it low.This booty was sufficient quiteFor 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 dreadHad frayed his boarship's vital thread.Full grimly did she now resumeThe work at her Tartarean loom,Nor yet achieved the monsters doom.
THE WOLF AND THE HUNTER.
THE WOLF AND THE HUNTER.
Not yet content?—nor ever will be heWho once has quaffed the cup of victory.The Boar has just begun to rise,When, swift, a red-legged partridge fliesRight 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 noteOf this sad scene, said, "I devoteTo Mistress Luck a sumptuous fane.What! corpses four together slain?It seems scarce true! But I must bePrudent 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 flingsHis hungry form; when, taking wings,The undischarged bolt quickly fliesThrough 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 twainTake 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 earthWith a race of new guests;For those of Noah's birthQuite weary me out with their endless requests.Fly to hell, Mercury!And bring unto meThe Fury most fierce and most grim of the three!For that race that I've cherishedWill 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 pathJove came back from his wrath,Annulled the Eumenide's oath;Nothing loath.Yet his thunders he threwAt the vile mortal crew;And one might have thoughtThat destruction were wrought;But the fact was just this—The bolts managed to miss.For the Thund'rer's prideWith 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 castAnd crush our weak race,Their Creator's disgrace.But yet he still smiled;For a father his childStrikes with merciful hand.So at last it was plannedThat god Vulcan should haveThe duty of sending us men to the grave.With bolts of two sortsVulcan fills his black courts;And of these two there's oneThat Heaven throws straight,When it fills up its hate,And the thread of a man's life is done.The other falls onlyOn mountain tops lonely;And this kind aloneBy 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; heDisliked 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! youcanaille!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.Wouldyouattend 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 hearthAs many Falcons of good birthAs 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,
THE TWO PIGEONS.
THE TWO PIGEONS.
Just now, predicting an awful fateFor some wretched bird; and I foreseeFalcons 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 stayBut 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 beenIn 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 soughtA 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 thereTo 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 storeA 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 bythe eyes,Which were gladdened by the feet of that shepherdess sofair,—So sweet, and good, and young, to whom, bound by Cupid'sties,—Fast bound, I thought, for ever, I first breathed my oathsin air.Alas! shall such sweet moments be never more for me?Shall my restless soul no more on earth such tender objectssee?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 woodMade his home. Yet still the same,They both kept their former name.Place and custom altered themIn 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 seesCæsar's true antipodes.Time, neglect, and luckless fateMake a race degenerate;Wise men's sons turn simpletons;Cæsars become Laridons.
THE MADMAN WHO SOLD WISDOM.
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 raceTo buy the treasure. What fun is his,Watching the silly people's phizzes,When for their money they obtainA blow that gives their red ears pain,And forty yards of common thread.Some were indignant; they, insteadOf pity, only mockery got.The best way was to bear one's lot,And walk off laughing; or else goHome, and not talk about the blow.To ask the meaning of all thisWas 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 seriousWent to consult a sage he knew,Who replied thus at the first view:—"These hieroglyphics I can see;People of sense infalliblyBetween themselves and madmen placeAt least some fathoms of this lace;Or else they will a buffet gain,And never much redress obtain.You are not gulled; a crazy foolHas 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 heartOf 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 treeA snare disposed with secresy;And Master Cat, at early dawn,From couch with hope of plunder drawn,Scarce half awake, fell plump withinThe cruelly-invented gin.Such caterwauling then arose,That Master Gnaw-cheese hurried roundTo see, in fetters safely bound,The deadliest of his special foes.Then Master Purrer softly cried,"Sir Rat, your true benevolenceIs known in all the country wide;So pray, for pity, take me henceFrom this atrocious, strangling snareIn 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 pentWithin 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 grimShall be your guard; the Owl no moreShould watch your nest; the Weasel slimShall 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 soughtThe 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 adventureThe 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 painTo think that one to whom I oweMy 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 liesThe germ of all hypocrisies."To trust to friendships that rogues feignIs 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 EpicurusSuffered from this rabble once;Which shows e'en learning can't secure usFrom the malice of the dunce.By all the people of his townWas 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 heFor madness might find remedy."Our fellow-townsman," weeping saidThe deputation, "lost his headThrough too much reading. Would that heHad 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 oneOf million others round the sun;And all these shining worlds are fullOf people, wise as well as dull.And, not content with dreaming thus,With theories strange he puzzles us;Asserting that his brain consistsOf some queer kind of airy mists.And, more than this, he says, that thoughHe 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 accidentCan bring such meetings 'tween ourselvesAs scarce could managed be by elves.Hippocrates arrived, to findThat he whom all men called a foolWas sage, and wise, and calm, and cool,—Still searching for the innate mindIn heart and brain of beast and man.Retired beneath a leafy grove,Through which a murmuring brooklet ran,The sage, with patient ardour, stroveThe labyrinths of a skull to scan.Beside him lay full many a scrollBy ancients written; and his soulWas 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 follyOf 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 springsWhich move all bad or holy things.But 'tis not meet that I rehearseSuch weighty words in humble verse.From this short story we may seeHow much at fault the mob may be;And this being so, pray tell me whySome venture to proclaim aloudThat in the clamour of the crowdWe hear the voice of Deity?
THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS.
THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS.
FABLE CLXXII.
THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS.
Two travellers discovered on the beachAn 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;"Ifyou'vea claim here,I'vea claim to match it;The first that saw it has the better rightTo its possession; come, you can't deny it.""Well," said his friend, "my orbs are pretty bright,AndI, upon my life, was first to spy it.""You? Not at all; or, if youdidperceive it,Ismeltit long before it was in view;But here's a lawyer coming—let us leave itTo 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 downWith 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 crewWho take your gifts, then bite at you.In my pages you'll find manyExamples of the utter zany;But chiefly have I had to doWith those who say what is not true.The ancient wise man cried aloud,"All men are liars!" Had he statedThis 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 lieAs a Fraudulent Trustee did,A liar is, most certainly,And should suffer for't as he did.The story tells usThat, proposingTo 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 floorwillhave 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, wildWith anguish, "Sir, I must decline—I loved a child—I have but one—I have!What say I? I have none,For he is stolen!" Then repliesThe 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, "conveyTo 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," repliesHis friend, "yet saw it with these eyes;And wherefore should you think it strangeThat in a land where rats can stealA 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 perceivedWhich way the artful story tended,Gave back the goods, the man receivedHis child, and so the matter ended.Between two Travellers, on their road,Dispute arose, in a strange mode:—The one a story-teller, suchAs oft are met with, who can't touchOn 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 "knewA 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.