FABLE LXXXIV.
THE SAYING OF SOCRATES.
A house was built by Socrates,That failed the public taste to please.One thought the inside, not to tell a lie,Unworthy of the wise man's dignity.Another blamed the front; and one and allAgreed the rooms were very much too small."What! such a house for our great sage,The pride and wonder of the age!""Would Heaven," said he, quite weary of the Babel,"Was only able.Small as it is, to fill it with true friends."And here the story ends.Just reason had good SocratesTo find his house too large for these.Each man you meet as friend, your hand will claim;Fool, if you trust the proffers that such bring.There's nothing commoner than Friendship's name;There's nothing rarer than the thing.
FABLE LXXXV.
THE OLD MAN AND HIS CHILDREN.
All power is feeble, if it's disunited:Upon this head now hear the Phrygian slave.If I add verse to his, which has delighted,It's not from envy; but in hopes to graveAnd paint our modern manners—feeble-sighted—Had I ambition for mere foolish aims.Phædrus, in eager search for glory,Enriched full many an ancient story;Ill-fitting me were such pretentious claims.But let us to our fable—rather history,Of him who tried to make his sons agree.An Old Man, when Death called, prepared to go—-"My children dear," he said, "try now to breakThis knotted sheaf of arrows. I will showThe way they're tied—what progress can you make?"The eldest, having done his very best,Exclaimed, "I yield them to a stronger one."The second strove across his knee and chest,Then passed them quickly to the younger son:They lost their time, the bundle was too strong,The shafts together none could snap or bend."Weak creatures!" said their sire, "pass them along;My single arm the riddle soon will end."They laughed, and thought him joking; but not so,Singly the arrows quickly fell in twain;"Thus may you concord's power, my children, know;Agree in love and never part again."He spoke no more, he felt his life was done;And then, perceiving death was very near,"Dear sons," said he, "I go where all have gone;Promise to live like brothers; let me hearYour joint vow—now, grant your father this:"Then, weeping, each one gives the parting kiss.He joins their hands and dies; a large estateHe left, but tangled up with heavy debts.This creditor seized land still in debate;That neighbour brought an action for assets:The brothers' love was short, you well may guess;Blood joined and interest severed the brief tie;Ambition, envy, led to basefinesse—The subdivision bred chicanery.The judge by turns condemns them all,Neighbours and creditors assail;To loggerheads the plighted brothers fall.The union's sundered—one agreesTo compromise; the other ventures on,And soon the money is all goneIn wrangling about lawyers' fees.They lose their wealth, and then, downhearted,Regretful talk of how, in joke,Their father brokeThose arrows, when they once were parted.
FABLE LXXXVI.
THE ORACLE AND THE IMPIOUS MAN.
None wish to cozen heaven but the fool;The mystic labyrinths of the human heartLie open to the gods in every part:All that man does is under their wise rule,Even things done in darkness are revealedTo those from whom no single act's concealed.A Pagan—a vile rogue in grain,Whose faith in gods, it's very plain,Was but to use them as a dictionary,For consultation wary—Went once to try Apollo to deceive,With or without his leave."Is what I hold," he said, "alive or no?"He held a sparrow, you must know,Prepared to kill it or to let it fly;To give the god at once the lie.Apollo saw the plan within his head,And answered—"Dead or alive," he said, "produce your sparrow.Try no more tricks, for I can always foil;Such stratagems, you see, do but recoil.I see afar, and far I cast my arrow."
FABLE LXXXVII.
THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOUR.
Mountain in labour announced the new birthWith clamour so loud that the people all thought'Twould at least bear a city, the largest on earth.It was merely a Mouse that the incident brought.When I think of this fable, so false in its fact,And so true in its moral, it brings to my mindThose common-place authors who try to attractAttention by means of the subjects they find."I will sing about Jove and the Titans," cries one;But how often the song comes to nothing, when done!
FORTUNE AND THE LITTLE CHILD.
FORTUNE AND THE LITTLE CHILD.
FABLE LXXXVIII.
FORTUNE AND THE LITTLE CHILD.
Beside a well profoundly deepA Schoolboy laid him down to sleep.Ere care has racked with aches the head,The hardest bank 's a feather bed;A grown-up man, in such a case,Had leaped a furlong from the place.Happy for him, just then came byFortune, and saw him heedless lie.She woke him softly, speaking mild:"I've saved your life, you see, my child.Another time you close your eyes,Be just a little bit more wise.If you had fallen down below,'Twould have been laid to me, I know,Though your own fault; and now, I pray,Before I take myself away,In honest truth you'll own the same,For I was hardly here to blame.It was notmycaprice or joke."The goddess vanished as she spoke.And she was right; for never yetHave any a misfortune met,But Fortune's blamed: she has to payFor our misdoings every day.For all mad, foolish, ill-planned schemesWe try to justify our dreamsBy rating her with curses strong.In one word,Fortune's always wrong.
FABLE LXXXIX.
THE EARTHEN POT AND THE IRON POT.
"Neighbour," said the Iron Pot,"Let us go abroad a little.""Thank you, I would rather not,"Was the answer that he got.Earthenware, you know, is brittle;And the weaker Pot was wiserThan to trust his bad adviser."Mighty well foryou" said he;"Skin like yours can hardly sufferVery much by land or sea,That is clear; but, as forme,Stop till I'm a little tougher.Youmay roam the wide world over;I shall stay at home in clover.""Friend!" the Iron Pot replied,"Don't let such a fear affect you;I shall travel at your side:So, whatever may betide,Cling to me, and I'll protect you."Having won his friend's compliance,Off they started in alliance.Jigging, jogging, on they went,Knocking one against the other;Till the Earthen Pot was sent(Past the powers of cement)Into atoms by his brother.'Twas hisownimprudence, clearly,That was paid for very dearly.With our equals let us mate,Or dread the weaker vessel's fate.
FABLE XC.
THE HARE'S EARS.
The Lion, wounded by some subject's horn,Was naturally wroth, and made decreeThat all by whom such ornaments were wornFrom his domains forthwith should banished be.Bulls, Rams, and Goats at once obeyed the law:The Deer took flight, without an hour's delay.A timid Hare felt smitten, when he sawThe shadow of his ears, with deep dismay.He feared that somebody, with eyes too keen,Might call them horns, they looked so very long."Adieu, friend Cricket," whispered he; "I meanTo quit the place directly, right or wrong.These ears are perilous; and, though I woreA couple short as any Ostrich wears,I still should run." The Cricket asked, "What for?Such ears are only natural in Hares.""They'll pass for horns," his frightened friend replied;"For Unicorn's appendages, I'm sure.And folks, if I deny it, will decideOn sending me to Bedlam, as a cure."
FABLE XCI.
THE FOX WITH HIS TAIL CUT OFF.
A sly old Fox, a foe of Geese and Rabbits,Was taken captive in a trap one day(Just recompense of predatory habits),And lost his tail before he got away.He felt ashamed at such a mutilation;But, cunning as before, proposed a wayTo gain companions in his degradation;And spoke as follows, on a council-day:—"Dear brother Foxes, what can be the beautyOr use of things so cumbrous and absurd?They only sweep the mud up. It's your dutyTo cut them off—it is, upon my word!""Not bad advice: theremaybe wisdom in it,"Remarked a sage, "but will you, by-the-by,Oblige us all by turning round a minute,Before we give a positive reply?"You never heard such hurricanes of laughterAs hailed the cropped appearance of the rogue.Of course, among the Foxes, ever after,Long tails continued very much in vogue.
FABLE XCII.
THE SATYR AND THE PASSER-BY.
A savage Satyr and his broodOnce took their lodgings and their foodWithin a cavern deep and drear,Which only very few came near.The Satyr, with his sons and wife,Led quite an unpretending life:Good appetite supplies the placeOf luxuries in such a case.A Traveller, who passed that way,Entered the cave one rainy day;The Satyr proved a friend in need.By asking him to stop and feed.The other, as 'twas pouring still,Of course, accepted with a will:And warmed his fingers with his breath,For he was frozen half to death:Upon the soup then breathed a bit(The surest way of cooling it);Meanwhile, his host in wonder sat,And asked, "Pray, what's the good of that?""Breath cools my soup," his guest replied,"And makes my fingers warm beside."The Satyr answered, with a sneer,"Then, we can do without you here."Beneath my roof you shall not sleep;I scorn such company to keep.All people in contempt I hold,Who first blow hot, and then blow cold!"
THE DOCTORS.
THE DOCTORS.
FABLE XCIII.
THE DOCTORS.
One morning Doctor Much-the-Worse went outTo see a patient, who was also tendedBy Doctor Much-the-Better. "Past a doubt,"The former said, "this case is nearly ended.There's not a chance."—The latter trusted stillIn physic's aid: but while the twin concoctersDisputed hard on plaister, draught, and pill,The patient died from this attack of doctors."Look there," said one, "I told you how 'twould be!"The other said, "No doubt you're vastly clever;But if our friend had only followedme,I know he would have been as well as ever."
FABLE XCIV.
THE LABOURING MAN AND HIS CHILDREN.
Work, work, with all your might and main,For labour brings the truest gain.A wealthy Labourer lay near to death;And, summoning his children round the bed,He thus addressed them, with his latest breath:"Part not with my estate when I am dead.My parents left me what I leave toyou.About the place a treasure lies concealed,No matter where,—search every corner through,Nor leave a spot unturned in any field.Go, seek it from the morning till the night."Their father dead, the loving sons fulfilledThe dying wish, that made their labour light:From end to end the fields were duly tilled.The harvest was enormous, though they foundNo golden treasures, howsoever small.And yet the father's last advice was sound,For Labourisa treasure, after all.
FABLE XCV.
THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS.
My little story will explainAn olden maxim, which expressesHow Avarice, in search of gain,May lose the hoard that it possesses.The fable tells us that a HenLaid golden eggs, each egg a treasure;Its owner—stupidest of men—Was miserly beyond all measure.He thought a mine of wealth to findWithin the Hen, and so he slew it:He found a bird of common kind—And lost a pretty fortune through it.For money-worms, who now and thenGrow poor through trying to be wealthy,I tell my fable of the Hen;My tale is good, my moral healthy.
THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS.
THE HEN WITH THE GOLDEN EGGS.
FABLE XCVI.
THE ASS THAT CARRIED THE RELICS.
An Ass, with relics loaded, thought the crowdKnelt down to him, and straightway grew so proud;He took to his own merit, without qualms,Even the incense and loud chaunted psalms,Some one, to undeceive him, wisely said—"A foolish vanity has turned your head:They not to you, but to the idol pray;Where glory's due, there they the honour pay."When foolish magistrates rule o'er a town,It's not the man we bow to, but his gown.
FABLE XCVII.
THE SERPENT AND THE FILE.
A Serpent once and Watchmaker were neighbours(Unpleasant neighbour for a working man);The Snake came creeping in among his labours,Seeking for food on the felonious plan;But all the broth he found was but a File,And that he gnawed in vain—the steel was tough.The tool said, with a calm contemptuous smile,"Poor and mistaken thing! that'squantum suff.You lose your time, you shallow sneak, you do,You'll never bite a farthing's worth off me,Though you break all your teeth: I tell you true,I fear alone Time's great voracity."This is for critics—all the baser herd.Who, restless, gnaw at everything they find.Bah! you waste time, you do, upon my word;Don't think your teeth can pierce the thinnest rind:To injure noble works you try, and try, but can't,To you they're diamond, steel, and adamant.
FABLE XCVIII.
THE HARE THE PARTRIDGE.
One should not mock the wretched. Who can tellHe will be always happy? Fortune changes,Wise Æsop, in his fables, taught this well.My story is like his—which very strange is,The Hare and Partridge shared the selfsame clover,And lived in peace and great tranquillity,Till one day, racing all the meadows over,The huntsmen came, and forced the Hare to flee,And seek his hiding-place. The dogs, put out,Were all astray: yes, even Brifaut erred,Until the scent betrayed. A lusty shoutArouses Miraut, who then loud averred,From philosophic reasoning, 'twas the Hare,And ardently pushed forward the pursuit.Rustaut, who never lied, saw clearly whereHad homeward turned again the frightened brute.Poor wretch! it came to its old form to die.The cruel Partridge, bitter taunting, said,"You boasted of your fleetness; now, then, tryYour nimble feet." Soon was that scorn repaid:While she still laughed, the recompense was near.She thought her wings would save her from man's jaws.Poor creature! there was worse than that to fear:The swooping Goshawk came with cruel claws.
FABLE XCIX
THE STAG AND THE VINE.
A Stag behind a lofty Vine took shelter(Such vines are met with in a southern clime);Hunters and hounds pursued him helter-skelter,And searched and searched, but only lost their time.The huntsmen laid, as might have been expected,Upon the shoulders of their dogs the blame,The Stag, forgetting he had been protected,Vastly ungrateful all at once became;Upon the friendly Vine he made a dinner;But hounds and hunters soon came back again.
THE STAG AND THE VINE.
THE STAG AND THE VINE.
Discovered quickly—now the leaves were thinner—The Stag, of course, got set upon and slain."I merit this!" exclaimed the dying glutton;"Ingratitude, like pride, must have a fall:"Another gasp, and he was dead as mutton;And no one present pitied him at all.How oft is hospitality rewardedBy deeds ungrateful as the one recorded!
FABLE C.
THE LION GOING TO WAR.
Lion planned a foray on a foe;Held a war-council; sent his heralds outTo warn the Animals he'd strike a blow;Soon all were ready to help slay and rout—Each in his special way. The Elephant,To bear upon his back the baggage and supplies,And right, as usual. Then the Bear, to plantThe flag upon the breach. The Fox's eyesBrighten at thought of diplomatic guile.The Monkey hopes to dupe with endless tricks."But send away the Asses," says, meanwhile,Some courtier, in whose mind the fancy sticks;"They're only stupid. Pack off, too, the Hares.""No, not so," said the King; "I'll use them all:Our troop's imperfect, if they have no shares.The Ass shall be our startling trumpet call;The Hare is useful for our courier, mind."Prudent and wise the King who knows the wayFor every subject fitting task to find.Nothing is useless to the wise, they say.
FABLE CI.
THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN.
A donkey donned a Lion's hide,And spread a panic, far and wide(Although the Donkey, as a rule,Is not a fighter, but a fool).By chance, a little bit of earStuck forth, and made the matter clear.Then Hodge, not relishing the trick,Paid off its author with a stick.While those who saw the Lion's skin,But little dreamed who lurked within,Stood open-mouthed, and all aghast,To see a Lion run so fast.This tale applies, unless I err,To many folks who make a stir;And owe three-fourths of their successTo servants, carriages, and dress.
FABLE CII.
THE EAGLE AND THE OWL.
The Eagle and the Owl had treaty made—Ceased quarrelling, and even had embraced.One took his royal oath; and, undismayed,The other's claw upon his heart was placed:Neither would gulp a fledgling of the other."Do you know mine?" Minerva's wise bird said.The Eagle gravely shook her stately head,"So much the worse," the Owl replied. "A motherTrembles for her sweet chicks—she does, indeed.It's ten to one if I can rear them then.
THE EAGLE AND THE OWL.
THE EAGLE AND THE OWL.
You are a king, and, therefore, take no heedOf who or what. The gods and lords of menPut all things on one level: let who willSay what they like. Adieu, my children dear,If you once meet them." "Nay, good ma'am, but still,Describe them," said the Eagle; "have no fear:Be sure I will not touch them, on my word."The Owl replied, "My little ones are small,Beautiful, shapely,—prettier, far, than all.By my description you will know the dears;Do not forget it: let no fate by youFind way to us, and cause me ceaseless tears."Well, one fine evening, the old Owl away,The Eagle saw, upon a rocky shelf,Or in a ruin, (who cares which I say?)Some little ugly creatures. To himselfThe Eagle reasoned, "These are not our friend's,Moping and gruff, and such a screeching, too:Let's eat 'em." Waste time never spendsThe royal bird, to give the brute his due;And when he eats, he eats, to tell the truth.The Owl, returning, only found the feetOf her dear offspring:—sad, but yet it's sooth.She mourns the children, young, and dear, and sweet,And prays the gods to smite the wicked thief,That brought her all the woe and misery.Then some one said, "Restrain thy unjust grief;Reflect one moment on the casualty.Thou art to blame, and also Nature's law,Which makes us always think our own the best.You sketched them to the Eagle as you saw:They were not like your portrait;—am I just?"
FABLE CIII.
THE SHEPHERD AND THE LION.
Fables are sometimes more than they appear:A crude, bare moral wearies some, I fear.The simplest animal to truth may lead;The story and the precept make one heed:They pass together better than apart:To please, and yet instruct, that is the art.To write for writing's sake seems poor to me;And for this reason, more especially—Numbers of famous men, from time to time,Have written fables in laconic rhyme,Shunning all ornament and verbose length,Wasting no word, unless to gain in strength.Phædrus was so succinct, some men found fault;Curt Æsop was far readier still to halt.But, above all, a Greek[1]did most excel,Who in four verses told what he would tell.If he succeeded, let the experts say;Let's match him now with Æsop, by the way.A Shepherd and a Hunter they will bring:I give the point and ending as they sing,Embroidering here and there, as on I go;—Thus Æsop told the story, you must know.A Shepherd, finding in his flocks some gaps,Thought he might catch the robber in his traps,And round a cave drew close his netted toils,Fearing the Wolves, and their unceasing spoils."Grant, king of gods, before I leave the place,"He cried, "grant me to see the brigand's face.Let me but watch him rolling in the net.That is the dearest pleasure I could get!"Then from a score of calves he chose the beast,The fattest, for the sacrificial feast.That moment stepped a Lion from the cave;The Shepherd, prostrate, all intent to saveHis petty life, exclaimed, "How little weKnow what we ask! If I could only seeSafe in my snares, that caused me so much grief,The helpless, panting, miserable thief,Great Jove! a Calf I promised to thy fane:An Ox I'd make it, were I free again."Thus wrote our leading author of his race;Now for the imitator, in his place.
[1]Gabrias.
[1]Gabrias.
FABLE CIV.
THE LION AND THE HUNTER.
A Braggart, lover of the chase,Losing a dog, of noble race,Fearing 'twas in a Lion's maw,Asked the first shepherd that he sawIf he would kindly show him whereThe robber had his favourite lair;That he might teach him, at first sight,The difference between wrong and right.The shepherd said, "Near yonder peakYou'll find the gentleman you seek.A sheep a month, that is the feeI pay for ease and liberty.I wander where I like, you see."And, while he spoke, the Lion ranAnd put to flight the bragging man."O Jupiter!" he cried, "befriend,And some safe refuge quickly send!"The proof of courage, understand,Is shown when danger is at hand.Some, when the danger comes, 'tis known,Will very quickly change their tone.
FABLE CV.
PHŒBUS AND BOREAS.
Phœbus and Boreas saw a traveller,'Fended against bad weather prudently.Autumn had just begun, and then, you see,Caution is useful to the wayfarer.It rains and shines, and rainbows bright displayedWarned those who ventured out to take a cloak:The Romans called these months, as if in joke,The doubtful. For this season well arrayed,Our fellow, ready for the pelting rain,Wore a cloak doubled, and of sturdy stuff."He thinks," the Wind said, "he is armed enoughTo 'scape all hazards; but it's quite in vain,For he has not foreseen that I can blow,So that no button in the world avails:I send cloaks flying as I do ships' sails.It will amuse us just to let him know;Now, you shall see." "Agreed," then Phœbus said;"Then let us bet, without more talking, come,Which of us first shall send him cloakless home:You can begin, and I will hide my head."'Twas soon arranged, and Boreas filled his throatWith vapour, till his cheeks balloons became.A demon's holiday of lightning-flameAnd storm came whistling, wrecking many a boat,Shattering many a roof—and all for what?About a paltry cloak. He's much adoTo save him from a precipice or two.The Wind but wasted time—one's pleased at that—The more it raged, but firmer still he drewAround his breast the cloak: the cape just shook,And here and there a shred the tempest took.At last, the time was up, no more it blew,Then the hot Sun dispersed the cloudy haze,And pierced the weary horseman through and through.Beneath his heavy mantle sprung hot dew—No longer could he bear those fervent rays—He threw his cloak aside (a man of sense);Not half his power had Phœbus yet employed.Mildness had won—the Sun was overjoyed:Softness gains more than any violence.
THE BEAR AND THE TWO FRIENDS.
THE BEAR AND THE TWO FRIENDS.
FABLE CVI.
THE BEAR AND THE TWO FRIENDS.
Two Friends, in want, resolved to sellA Bear-skin, though the Bear was well,And still alive. The Furrier paidThem willingly; the bargain's made.It was the King of Bears, they said:They'd kill him in an hour or two,And what more could they hope to do?"The merchant has not such a skin,A guarantee through thick and thin,To fence from e'en the keenest coldWith warm, soft, pliant fold on fold:Better to make two cloaks than one."The bargain's made, the business done,The Bear, in two days, was to dieThat they agreed on, presently.They found the Bear, who, at full trot,Came down upon them, raging hot.The men were thunder-struck; soon doneWith bargain-making, how they run!Life against money: they are mute.One climbs a tree, to shun the brute;The other, cold as marble, liesUpon his stomach—shuts his eyes;For he has heard that Bears, insteadOf eating fear to touch the dead.The trap deceives the foolish Bear:He sees the body lying there,Suspects a trick, turns, smells, and sniffs,With many nuzzling cautious whiffs."He's dead," said he, "and rather high;"Then seeks the forest that's hard by.The merchant, from the tree descendingQuickly, to his companion's lendingThe aid he needs. "A wondrous sight,To think you've only had a fright.But where's his skin?—and did he sayAught in your ear, as there you lay?For he came, as I plainly saw,And turned you over with his paw.""He said, 'Another time, at least,Before you sell, first kill the beast."
FABLE CVII.
JUPITER AND THE FARMER.
Jupiter had a farm to give away;Mercury told the world the chosen day.The people came to offer, rough they were,And listened grimly. One said it was bareAnd stubborn land; another half agreed.While they thus haggled, churlishly indeed,One bolder than the rest—but wiser?—no—Consents to take it, if Jove only grantThe climate that he wishes; he will plant,And sow, and reap, if but the heat and coldMay come and go, like slaves, as they are told.The seasons wait his nod: the wet and dryObey his bidding from a servile sky.Jove grants his wish—our foolish fellow swaysHis sceptre bravely—rains and blows for days;Makes his own climate just as he may please:His neighbours, no more than Antipodes,Share his good weather. Still as well they fare;Their barns are teeming full; but his art bare.The next year quite a change; another wayHe sets the seasons, watching day by day:Still, there's some flaw—his crops are thin and poor,While loaded waggons crowd his neighbour's door.What can he do?—he falls before Jove's throne,Confesses all his folly: he aloneHas been to blame. Jove, with much gentleness,Like a mild master, pities his distress.It is agreed that Providence is kind,And knows far better than a human mindWhat's good for us, and calmly bids us do it:We seldom see our way till we are through it.