FABLE CLXXXVII.
THE HUSBAND, THE WIFE, AND THE ROBBER.
A Husband, loving very tenderly—Most tenderly—his wife, was treated illBy 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 theeI 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 gloryIn 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 slainThat which we mortals call ourreason.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 nowThat which I wish to tell is howA 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 beforeHad scarce had friend but hermit poor,And very seldom had in viewAught 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 mindWith funds of great good sense;And how to govern human kindHe amply learned from thence.
THE SHEPHERD AND THE KING.
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 goesLife snow on water; thousand woesFall ever on the luckless wightWho basks a time in kingly might.You know not to what precipiceYou haste. Come back; take my advice."The other smiled; on which the manOf sacred life, continuing, said—"Alas! already I can scanHow far astray your wits have fled;Your foolish conduct calls to mindThe 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 wayCries—'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 potherUnless 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 wordWas 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 skillSeem 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 eyesSave modest mediocrities,And praises of the joys that lieIn loneliness and poverty."His wealth, then," cried the pests, "consistsIn 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 muteEach base calumnious courtier stands;For in that oaken chest is noughtBut cap and jacket, roughly wrought,A simple cloak, a shepherd's flute."Ah! much-loved treasures;" then exclaimsThe Shepherd; "you are dear, indeed,For never did you rouse the greedOr malice of my fellow-men,And you your master now reclaims;Let's leave this palace, ne'er againTo 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 notThose 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 thoseWho may be prudent, may be thieves;Into the grave perhaps it goes:Who knows the changes Fortune weaves?For Lady Fortune mocks outrightAt human nature's dying pangs;And if by you or me made tightThe rope, she laughs that some one hangs!
FABLE CXC.
THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK.
"Alas! I see another oneOf 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 tornBy 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 keepUnited, never wolf would dareTheir 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, butThe 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 tellMy tale of Tyreus, still repeating.""Tyreus! is that good food?" then saidThe Kite. "No, no;" was the reply;"He was a mighty king, who madeHis 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."
THE FISH AND THE SHEPHERD WHO PLAYED ON THE CLARIONET.
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 AnnettePlaying on the Clarionet,Poured forth strains of music, suchAs the very dead might touch:—Played and sang beside a streamWhich 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 findYour 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 strainsWere deliciously sweet, but, in spite of his pains,The fishes avoided the charmer's keen hook.Then Tircis lost patience, and hastily tookA 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 keepYour 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(Bywickedbe it understood,I mean not Man, but wretch with sting;For some my meaning might mistake),Well, this base and atrocious SnakeWas 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 badCan 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 dieWho graceless are, there's noneWho would not be undone.Yourself shall be the judge; I'll takeFrom 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 callIs based on vices great and small.Your pleasure and convenienceYou'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 meBelongs of right your fate's decree;But, nathless, let us have resortUnto some independent court."The Snake assented; and a CowThat stood hard by, appealed to, said—"The case is plain; I can't see howThe 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 sonHad 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 placeBefore this Ox our mutual case."The Snake assents, and heavilyThe Ox walks up, and by-and-by,Still ruminating, makes replyTo this effect—"That, after yearsOf 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 thoughtHe—Ox—was honoured, being boughtBy 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 caseRedounding 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 belowSolely 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 teachThe 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 repairedTo 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 astoundedAt being with this scheme confounded.)The Tortoise liking much this plan,Straightway the friendly Ducks beganTo see how one for flight unfittedMight through the realms of air be flitted.At length within her jaws they fittedA 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 seeA 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 seekingA power that Nature ne'er intended,Are follies close allied, and from one stock descended.
THE TWO ADVENTURERS AND THE TALISMAN.
THE TWO ADVENTURERS AND THE TALISMAN.
FABLE CXCV.
THE TWO ADVENTURERS AND THE TALISMAN.
I have never heard or readIn annals true or fabled story,That paths of pleasure ever ledMortal heroes unto glory;And in proof of this one seesThe labours twelve of Hercules.However, once, by TalismanInduced, a knight conceived the planOf mounting horse and couching lance,And seeking lands of fair romance,Accompanied by one he knew.After a time there came in viewA post upon the public way,On which was writ—"A moment stay,Adventurous knight. If you would seeThat which no knight has seen before,Venture across yon torrent's roar,And from the root of yonder treeYon elephant's huge head of stoneRaise up, and, without resting, bearTo yonder mountain's crest, which proudly stands alone."Now of these knights one was of thoseWho 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 wroughtHis work on such a scale, a manMight bear it for a yard, then rest;But tell me not that mortal canBear it to yonder mountain's top,Not daring once for breath to stay.Perhaps this mystic head is naughtBut 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 madeA 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 thenForth swarmed a host of armed men.All other errant knights but thisWould 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 placeOf one just dead! With modest graceThe knight declared he was not fitA crown to wear, and then took it.Sixtus the Pope once said so, too;(And is it, then, so bad a thingTo 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 endWho 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 gainBeing ever sisters twain,Had left him at a total lossWhere to secrete his golden dross;And why the Miser was so hot to findA 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 pleasureFrom 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 senseOf 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 mightHave 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 aidIt soon beneath the turf was laid;But when a little time was past,Our Miser going to re-visitHis buried treasure, found a huge deficit.At first despair oppressed him; but at lastHe 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 inPlaying 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 requireIs 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 drewOur wolf's attention to some shepherds near,Feasting on what his wolfish instinct knewHad 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 lothTo 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 passTill 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 feedOn animals' flesh, it is surely unjustThat we should endeavour to make them recedeTo 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 wrongWhen he is weak and you are strong.
THE RABBITS.
THE RABBITS.
FABLE CXCVIII.
THE RABBITS.
TO THE DUKE DE ROCHEFOUCAULD.
I Have often said, on seeingHow 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 NatureHas given to each living creatureA sense of morality's force,That its origin owes to the one same source.At that witching hour when dayIn the brown of the eve melts away,Or at that when the long-brooding nightHas 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 fearSome 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 perceiveA picture of the race of menWho, shipwrecked once, will still againThe 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 placeWhere they do not of wont reside,The native dogs at once give chase,With hungry jaws, all opening wide(Fearing that the intruders maySnatch the true owner's food away),And never weary till th' intrudersAre safely driven from their borders.Just so with those whom gracious fatesHave made the governors of states;And those whom many artful plansHave 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 arePrecisely of this character.Woe to the unknown writer whoDares publish something bright and new!Poets forgive you any crime,If you'll not rival them in rhyme.A thousand instances of thisI might recite; but well I wishThat works should never be too long.Moreover, you should always showYou 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 modestyAre in exact equality;Who cannot bear that men should touchWith praiseful tongues your well-earned fame,Who still will blush with needless shame:You, who scarcely have allowedThat I should make my verses proud,And from critics and from timeProtect my insufficient rhyme,By heading them with one of thoseGreat names which make our nation's pride,Our France, whose annals long discloseMore famous names than all the world beside;Oh, let me tell the universeThat you gave me this subject for my verse.
FABLE CXCIX.
THE SWALLOW AND THE SPIDER.
"O Jupiter! who from thy regal browDrew 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 sprangPast 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-orderedhome.In this world here below, it is Jupiter's planTwo 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 befellAmongst 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 foesInflicting on each other equal woes,She ceased to blame them; "For," said she, "they're suchAs Jupiter has made them; and we knowThat 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 oweTo man, and not to Nature, all our woe."