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 saidTo Mr. Fox, his vizier keen,
THE LION.
THE LION.
"I know you suffer from the spleen,Because this Lion-whelp is bred.But why be fearful, since his fatherIs 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 suchMy 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 growsToo strong for all the world t' oppose.His horoscope I've duly cast,And find that he will ever beTo 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 LionHas 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 maySave something from this beast of prey."Thus spoke the Fox; but to his masterTh' advice seemed ill; and thence disasterSpread 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 endowedWith a combative spirit, in many a frayHe saw that to cropping his long ears he owedAvoidance 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 wonOf a monarch and his son.An equal age made either pairAffection 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 kingShould be loved, need we say, was a wonderful thing.Now the fates had endowed this young heir to the throneWith 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 prizeher.And so it chanced, alack! one day.That the rivals twain, at play,Fell into a desperate rage;And the youthful Parrot, stungBy 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 earsThe tidings came, and then the airWas 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 knowsWhat 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, FateHad 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 ProvidenceOr Fate that rules our lives, I'm sureThat I will never move from henceTill tempted by some wood secure.I know that in a kingly breastVengeance 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 bestBy 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 quoteA 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;
THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.
THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.
'Neath eyebrows shaggy, two piercing eyesGlared 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 RomeSpoiled 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 theyMay teach me what I ought to say,And so direct my ignorant tongue,That it may utter nothing wrong!Without their intervention mustBe all things evil, all unjust.Unless through them we plead our cause,'Tis sure we violate their laws.In witness of this truth perceiveHow Roman avarice makes us grieve;For 'tis not by its arms that RomeHas 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,Toyoumay send the wage of crime,And justice, inourvengeful handsPlacing its destructive brands,Hurl swift o'er you the endless wavesOf war, and make you fettered slaves!Why, why should we be slaves to you?What is't that you can better doThan the poor tribes you scourge with war?Why trouble lives that tranquil are?Before you came we fed in peaceOur 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 notHave scourged your race with needless pains,Had victory been now their lot.The cruelties by your prefects wroughtCan 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 youThat 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 sentTo 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 refuseTo 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 bringOne added horror; for a hateful thing,Unknown before, has now spread far and wideThroughout our native land—Infanticide!Call back your men, or else the German raceFrom 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 wayTo gain a scrap of justice is to pay.I know my words are rude, and only waitHumbly to suffer candour's usual fate."The half wild peasant paused, and all,Astonished that such words could fallFrom 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 madeA copy of the Peasant's speech,All future orators to teachHow to tell truth, convince, persuade.But sad to tell, not long at RomeHad 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 leftBut 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 bewailThat 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 largeWhat 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 throwAll 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 comeFrom Shepherd's mouth? and is it not, then, trueThat 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 tryFor pupils in the art of Heraldry."—As though such wretched stuff could haveA home beyond the Atlantic wave!Then cried the Shepherd, "Worth all praiseAre your intentions; but, remark, the weekHas many days. Now, where a meal to seekI 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 mealto-day?You seem in your resources rich;But food to day's a subject whichSo presses, that I really mustDecline to put in you my trust."This said, the Shepherd in a neighbouring woodCollected 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 goAnd air their talents in the world below.From this adventure we, I think, may learnThat for life's daily needs much learning is not wanted;But that to every man the power to earnFood by his labour has been freely granted.
FABLE CCVII.
THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG MEN.
An Old Man, planting a tree, was metBy three joyous youths of the village near,Who cried, "It is dotage a tree to setAt 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 daysWith care for other people's enjoyment?'Tis foryouto repent of your evil ways:To care for the future isouremployment!"Then the aged man replies—
THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG MEN.
THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG MEN.
"All slowly grows, but quickly dies.It matters not if then or nowYou 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 shallSurvive this moment's interval?My great grandchildren, ages hence,Shall bless this tree's benevolence.And if you seek to make it plainThat pleasing others is no gain,I, for my part, truly sayI 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 lotOf 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 crimeTo 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 setHis poor young heart in fret;And with sighs and tears tender,Forgetting no lovers trick,This roguish young hero quickMade her surrender.And shortly it was evidentThat, thanks to his supreme descent,All other god-born children wereSurpassed 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 wideAlone; 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 impartTo this young prodigy the artThrough 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 meAll that sweet and mystic liesIn music's deepest harmonies."Next Hercules, with eyes of flame,Exclaimed, "I'll teach him how to tameThe monsters that invade the breast,The vain temptations that infestThe heart's recesses; yes, I'll teachYour offspring how with toil to reachHeights and honours that aloneAre to steadfast virtue known."When all had spoken, with an air of scornSmiled, 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 plainThat he is not wholly stupidWho, 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 elfWill scorn it; but for once I'll vowThe tale that I shall tell you nowIs 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
THE OWL AND THE MICE.
THE OWL AND THE MICE.
An Owl had made its gloomy seat—The bird that Atropos thought meetIts 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 oftCaught 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 CartesianIs obstinate enough to swearThat Owls but mechanism are.But how, then, could this night-bird findThis 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 themIs 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 wroughtA closer chain of argued thought?
FABLE CCX.
THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES.
TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY.
O Prince! to whom the immortals giveTheir 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 musePlead 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 drewThis brilliant soul, is e'en like you,In martial fields; 'tis not his faultHis steps at victory's archway halt:Some god retains him; the same kingWho once the Rhine with victory's wingSwept over in one month, they say.Then speed was right; but now, delay.But I must pause. The Loves and SmilesDetest the verse that runs to miles:And of the Loves and Smiles your courtIs, 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 seekOf these a story from the Greek,Of certain men who, yielding upTheir 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 thenThey 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 shouldResume their manhood's natural mould."Yes," said the nymph, "it shall be so,If they desire. You ask them, go."Ulysses ran, and, calling roundHis former comrades, said, "I've foundA method sure, by which againYou 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 landI 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 sightAre 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;
THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES.
THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES.
Pass on. Content and free I dwellWithin 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 shepherdessWho echo wearies out with criesAgainst your wolfish gluttonies.In former days your task had beenHer 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 lessA 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 trueThat 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, refusedTo 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 chooseA 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 fateOf Circe's victims struck my pate.Such victims in this world belowWere 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 espiedThe fowls of a Farmer; but though he triedEach art of his cunning, the hens were stillSafe from the jaws of the midnight ranger.Perplex'd as he was 'twixt his hungry willAnd 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 henceThe 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 FoxTo suffer such troubles and impudent mocks."So breathing his vengeance, Sir Sly Fox choseA 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 doneStruck 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 slainLay heaped high upon the plain.Not unlike the ghastly sceneWhen great Ajax, filled with spleen,Flocks of sheep and herds of oxen madly slew,Dreaming that he smote the crewWho, 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 sureAgainst his men and dogs he swore,For 'tis a common trick of mastersOthers 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 fairThat 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 exposedTo 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 sureThat masters can't such wit endure,As Carlo found, when soundly whippedFor 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 thoseAround you, but your own doors close.He who would have a thing well doneShould 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 visionOf a great Vizier, calmly laptIn endless joys of fields Elysian;Then straightway in a moment's spaceThe dreamer sees another place,Wherein a Hermit bathed in fireEndures such torments as inspireEven those who share his fateWith 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 surmisingHis dreams were ill, as some aver.But soon a wise Interpreter,Consulted, said, "Be not perplexed,For if to me some skill is givenTo 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 hadDeep 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 powersAloft, 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 theseI am not born, at least amongThe groves I'll wander, and in songDescribe 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 closeIn no less deep and sweet repose.To Solitude fresh vows I'll pay;And when, at length, the fatal dayShall 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 findPaths 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,
THE TWO GOATS.
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 ladyAdvanced upon the plank unsteady.And now, by aid of history,Louis le Grand I seem to seePhilip the Fourth advance to meetUpon the isle of conference.Well, step by step, with agile feet,Our ramblers, with a proper senseOf what was due to ancestry,Refused to yield; for one Goat, sheCould claim that Polyphemus laidHer sire at Galatea's feet;The other, just as boldly, saidHer 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.