Chapter X: Part 10

'Neath eyebrows shaggy, two piercing eyes
Glared 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 Rome
Spoiled 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 they
May teach me what I ought to say,
And so direct my ignorant tongue,
That it may utter nothing wrong!
Without their intervention must
Be all things evil, all unjust.
Unless through them we plead our cause,
'Tis sure we violate their laws.
In witness of this truth perceive
How Roman avarice makes us grieve;
For 'tis not by its arms that Rome
Has 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,
To <i>you</i> may send the wage of crime,
And justice, in <i>our</i> vengeful hands
Placing its destructive brands,
Hurl swift o'er you the endless waves
Of war, and make you fettered slaves!
Why, why should we be slaves to you?
What is't that you can better do
Than the poor tribes you scourge with war?
Why trouble lives that tranquil are?
Before you came we fed in peace
Our 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 not
Have scourged your race with needless pains,
Had victory been now their lot.
The cruelties by your prefects wrought
Can 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 you
That 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 sent
To 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 refuse
To 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 bring
One added horror; for a hateful thing,
Unknown before, has now spread far and wide
Throughout our native land--Infanticide!
Call back your men, or else the German race
From 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 way
To gain a scrap of justice is to pay.
I know my words are rude, and only wait
Humbly to suffer candour's usual fate."
The half wild peasant paused, and all,
Astonished that such words could fall
From 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 made
A copy of the Peasant's speech,
All future orators to teach
How to tell truth, convince, persuade.
But sad to tell, not long at Rome
Had 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 left
But 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 bewail
That 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 large
What 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 throw
All 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 come
From Shepherd's mouth? and is it not, then, true
That 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 try
For pupils in the art of Heraldry."--
As though such wretched stuff could have
A home beyond the Atlantic wave!
Then cried the Shepherd, "Worth all praise
Are your intentions; but, remark, the week
Has many days. Now, where a meal to seek
I 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 meal
to-day?
You seem in your resources rich;
But food to day's a subject which
So presses, that I really must
Decline to put in you my trust."
This said, the Shepherd in a neighbouring wood
Collected 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 go
And air their talents in the world below.
From this adventure we, I think, may learn
That for life's daily needs much learning is not wanted;
But that to every man the power to earn
Food by his labour has been freely granted.

FABLE CCVII.

THE OLD MAN AND THE THREE YOUNG MEN.

An Old Man, planting a tree, was met
By three joyous youths of the village near,
Who cried, "It is dotage a tree to set
At 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 days
With care for other people's enjoyment?
'Tis for <i>you</i> to repent of your evil ways:
To care for the future is <i>our</i> employment!"
Then the aged man replies--

"All slowly grows, but quickly dies.
It matters not if then or now
You 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 shall
Survive this moment's interval?
My great grandchildren, ages hence,
Shall bless this tree's benevolence.
And if you seek to make it plain
That pleasing others is no gain,
I, for my part, truly say
I 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 lot
Of 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 crime
To 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 set
His poor young heart in fret;
And with sighs and tears tender,
Forgetting no lovers trick,
This roguish young hero quick
Made her surrender.
And shortly it was evident
That, thanks to his supreme descent,
All other god-born children were
Surpassed 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 wide
Alone; 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 impart
To this young prodigy the art
Through 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 me
All that sweet and mystic lies
In music's deepest harmonies."
Next Hercules, with eyes of flame,
Exclaimed, "I'll teach him how to tame
The monsters that invade the breast,
The vain temptations that infest
The heart's recesses; yes, I'll teach
Your offspring how with toil to reach
Heights and honours that alone
Are to steadfast virtue known."
When all had spoken, with an air of scorn
Smiled, 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 plain
That he is not wholly stupid
Who, 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 elf
Will scorn it; but for once I'll vow
The tale that I shall tell you now
Is 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

An Owl had made its gloomy seat--
The bird that Atropos thought meet
Its 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 oft
Caught 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 Cartesian
Is obstinate enough to swear
That Owls but mechanism are.
But how, then, could this night-bird find
This 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 them
Is 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 wrought
A closer chain of argued thought?

FABLE CCX.

THE COMPANIONS OF ULYSSES.

TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY.

O Prince! to whom the immortals give
Their 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 muse
Plead 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 drew
This brilliant soul, is e'en like you,
In martial fields; 'tis not his fault
His steps at victory's archway halt:
Some god retains him; the same king
Who once the Rhine with victory's wing
Swept over in one month, they say.
Then speed was right; but now, delay.
But I must pause. The Loves and Smiles
Detest the verse that runs to miles:
And of the Loves and Smiles your court
Is, 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 seek
Of these a story from the Greek,
Of certain men who, yielding up
Their 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 then
They 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 should
Resume their manhood's natural mould.
"Yes," said the nymph, "it shall be so,
If they desire. You ask them, go."
Ulysses ran, and, calling round
His former comrades, said, "I've found
A method sure, by which again
You 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 land
I 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 sight
Are 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;

Pass on. Content and free I dwell
Within 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 shepherdess
Who echo wearies out with cries
Against your wolfish gluttonies.
In former days your task had been
Her 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 less
A 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 true
That 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, refused
To 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 choose
A 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 fate
Of Circe's victims struck my pate.
Such victims in this world below
Were 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 espied
The fowls of a Farmer; but though he tried
Each art of his cunning, the hens were still
Safe from the jaws of the midnight ranger.
Perplex'd as he was 'twixt his hungry will
And 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 hence
The 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 Fox
To suffer such troubles and impudent mocks."
So breathing his vengeance, Sir Sly Fox chose
A 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 done
Struck 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 slain
Lay heaped high upon the plain.
Not unlike the ghastly scene
When great Ajax, filled with spleen,
Flocks of sheep and herds of oxen madly slew,
Dreaming that he smote the crew
Who, 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 sure
Against his men and dogs he swore,
For 'tis a common trick of masters
Others 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 fair
That 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 exposed
To 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 sure
That masters can't such wit endure,
As Carlo found, when soundly whipped
For 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 those
Around you, but your own doors close.
He who would have a thing well done
Should 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 vision
Of a great Vizier, calmly lapt
In endless joys of fields Elysian;
Then straightway in a moment's space
The dreamer sees another place,
Wherein a Hermit bathed in fire
Endures such torments as inspire
Even those who share his fate
With 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 surmising
His dreams were ill, as some aver.
But soon a wise Interpreter,
Consulted, said, "Be not perplexed,
For if to me some skill is given
To 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 had
Deep 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 powers
Aloft, 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 these
I am not born, at least among
The groves I'll wander, and in song
Describe 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 close
In no less deep and sweet repose.
To Solitude fresh vows I'll pay;
And when, at length, the fatal day
Shall 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 find
Paths 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,

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 lady
Advanced upon the plank unsteady.
And now, by aid of history,
Louis le Grand I seem to see
Philip the Fourth advance to meet
Upon the isle of conference.
Well, step by step, with agile feet,
Our ramblers, with a proper sense
Of what was due to ancestry,
Refused to yield; for one Goat, she
Could claim that Polyphemus laid
Her sire at Galatea's feet;
The other, just as boldly, said
Her 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.

FABLE CCXIV.

THE LION, THE APE, AND THE TWO ASSES.

A young King Lion, desirous to shape
By morality's laws his government,
On one fine morning, prudently sent
For that clever old master of arts, the Ape;
And the statesman, consulted, sagely replied,
"O King, hold this maxim as your very best guide--
Let your own self-will to the good of the state
Be in all cases subordinate;
For 'tis simply neglect of this wholesome rule
That so oft makes us animals play the fool.
It is not in one day, or even in two,
That this evil self-love you'll contrive to subdue;
But should you succeed, oh, my monarch august,
You will never be foolish, and seldom unjust."
"Give me examples," replied the King,
"Of both the one and the other thing."
"Each species has its vanity,"
The Ape said very seriously;
"As, for instance, my own; for the lawyers call
All but themselves, mean, base, and small.
But, on the other hand, self-esteem
Leads us to laud our deeds to the sky,
As, by doing this, we fondly deem
That our own position is raised as high.
And now I deduce, from what I have said,
That much so-called talent is mere grimace--
A trick which, as wise men know, has led
Many an idiot to power and place.

"Whilst following close, but the other day,
The steps of two Asses, who foolishly
Fed each other with flattery,
I heard the one to the other say,
Is it not, sir, a shame and disgrace
That the tribe of mankind, that perfect race,
Should profane our dignified name, by denoting
As asses all those that are stupid or doting?
And even has ventured such lengths as to say,
That, when mortals speak nonsense, they utter a bray!
'Tis pleasant, forsooth, to perceive how mankind
Dream they're above us, and yet are so blind.
No, no, let their orators silent remain,
For they are the brayers, and fools in grain;
But with man let us cease one another to bother:
'Tis enough that we quite comprehend one another.
I will only here add that you have but to speak,
To make larks seem hoarse, and the blackbird to squeak.'
'These qualities, sir,' then the other replied,
'In yourself, in the fullest perfection, reside.'
And, having thus spattered each other with praise,
They trot far and wide to repeat the same craze;
Each fondly in hope, like a couple of crows,
That a caw shall come back for the caw he bestows.
But this trait is not asinine only, I own,
For I myself many great people have known
Who would gladly, instead of my-lording each other,
Have said, each to each, 'My Imperial Brother!'
But I've spoken too long, and will only request
That this secret be hid in your Majesty's breast:
Since your Majesty wished me some trait to divulge,
Which would show him how those who in self-love indulge
Become objects of scorn; it would take me too long
To show also, now, how it leads to worse wrong."
Thus spoke the Monkey false by nature;
But it has still in doubt remained
If he the other point explained;
Your Monkey is a knowing creature,
And knows it is not fortunate
To be too truthful with the great.

FABLE CCXV.

THE WOLF AND THE FOX.

Why to the Fox does Æsop ever
Give the palm of being clever?
I the reason oft have sought,
Without of reason finding aught.
When the Wolf's engaged in strife,
To save his own or take a life,
The Fox can do no more than he,
Or half as much, and so I might
With Master Æsop disagree.
But there's a case has come to light,
In which 'tis fair I should admit
The Fox displayed the greater wit.
On one fine night it so befell
That Reynard, looking down a well,
The moons full silver circle sees,
And takes it for a lordly cheese.
Two pails, above the well suspended,
To draw the water were intended;
And into that which higher hung,
Good Master Reynard, famished, sprung.
Down swift he went, and, to his woe,
Found out his sad mistake below.
He saw his death before his eyes;
For he could never hope to rise,
Unless some other famished thing,
Enticed by Dian's silver face,
Into the other pail should spring,
And then, by sinking, take his place.
Two days passed on without a visit
From any creature; and, meanwhile,
Old Time had made a huge deficit
In Mistress Moon's well-rounded smile.
But, just as all seemed lost, at last
A hungry Wolf the well's mouth past;
To whom the Fox, with joyous hail,
Cried, "Mister Wolf, with me regale;
This glorious cheese you here behold,
From Fauna's hands received its mould,
Of milk which heifer Io gave.
If Jupiter were lying ill,
I think the god himself would crave
Of this delicious cheese to have his fill.
I've eaten my share, as you plainly may see,
But enough still remains both for you and for me;
So, enter that pail, placed expressly for you."
Now, whether this story was told well, or not,
The Wolf, like a fool, took it all in as true,
And into the bucket with eagerness got;
When, outweighed, of course, Master Reynard got up,
And the other remained, on the moonshine to sup.
And yet, why blame the luckless beast?
For, tempted by some phantom feast,
As easily deceived,
That which he hopes, or that he fears,
In either of the hemispheres.
Is by each man believed.

FABLE CCXVI.

THE SICK STAG.

In a land where stags abounded,
One fell very sick indeed;
And he saw his bed surrounded
By a dozen "friends in need."
"Gentlemen!" he muttered, "leave me,
Leave me, I implore, to fate:
Since your tears can only grieve me,
And your solace comes too late."
Not a bit;--their lamentations
Lasted for a week, or more;

While they took their daily rations
From his very scanty store.
Bit by bit his food diminished,
Under such attacks as these;
Till the sufferer's course was finished
By starvation--not disease.

For comforters of every kind
Some fee is necessary, mind;
And nobody will give advice,
Or shed a tear, without his price.

FABLE CCXVII.

THE CAT AND THE TWO SPARROWS.

TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY.

Of equal age, lived closed together
A Sparrow and a Cat;
And he of fur and he of feather
Grew so familiar, that
The bird could fearlessly provoke
His formidable friend in joke.
To peck out eyes the one with beak pretended,
The other with protruded claws defended.
The Cat, however, truth to say,
Was always gentle in his play;
And though he showed his claws, took care
His little chirping friend to spare.
The fretful Sparrow, much less meek,
His tiny fury tried to wreak
On Master Cat, who only purred,
And thence this truth may be inferred,
That friends should never, in dissension,
Let quarrel grow to strife's dimension.
Still old acquaintance ne'er forgot
Kept their strifes from growing hot,
And battle never sprang from play.
But yet it chanced, one luckless day,
A neighbouring Sparrow heedless flew
To where Miss Chirp and Master Mew
Had lived so long in amity.
At first 'twas well; but, by-and-by,
The birds grew jealous, and in rage
Gave vent to wrath none could assuage.
The Cat, aroused from hearth-rug sleep,
Endeavoured first the peace to keep,
But finding that in vain, declared,
"What! let this stranger Sparrow come
To eat my friend in his own home?
It shall not be." His claws he bared,
And soon, without a spoon or fork,
Of Master Chirp made but short work.
The Sparrow eaten, said the Cat,
"A most delicious morsel, that!"
And as no other bird was near,
Next swallowed his companion dear.

From this what moral shall I learn?
Without a moral, fables are
But empty phantoms--deserts bare.
Some glimpse of moral I discern,
But I'll not trace it; I've no fear
But that your Grace will see it clear.
For you 'tis only simple play;
But for my muse in any way
'Twere toil. In fact, I'll not the truth let fall
For you, who need it not at all.

FABLE CCXVIII.

THE MISER AND THE APE.

A Man was a Miser; every one knows
That his was a vice which grows and grows:
This was a man that filled jars and buckets,
Old stockings and coffers, with pistoles and ducats.
'Tis a maxim of mine that such things left unused,
I mean pistoles and ducats, are simply abused.
To secure all his wealth from the lovers of stealth,
My Miser had built him a home,
Surrounded by waves with their foam,
And there with a pleasure the which
To some seems but poor, to some rich,
He heaped up his wealth with delight,
And every day, and each night,
He counted the sum, and re-counted,
And gloated to see how it mounted;
But, somehow, count well as he might,
The gold pieces never came right.
And the source of this grievous disaster
Was this, that an Ape, than his master
More wise, to my mind, took a pleasure
In flinging to seaward his treasure.
The Miser secure,
With his double-locked door,
Was wont to leave silver and gold
All loose on his table, untold.
"Ah! ah!" said the Monkey, one day;
"I'll fling this in the sea; 'twill be gay."
Now for me it were hard to decide
If the Master or Ape were the wiser,
'Twould be half for the Ape, half for Miser.
Well, as I've said, the Ape, one day,
Laying hands on Master's gold,
Many a ducat flung away,
With sovereigns new and angels old.
With huge delight he tried his skill,
And ducks and drakes made with a will,
Of golden coins which mortals seem
To think of mortal goods the cream.
In fact, had not the Monkey heard
The key within the key-hole stirred,
And feared its Master, every coin
Had gone its comrades to rejoin,
And 'neath the waves with golden flecks
Had lit the gloomy floor of wrecks.
Now, blessings on each Miser's head,
Both whilst he lives and when he's dead.

TO THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY,

<i>In Answer to a Request for a Fable on "The Cat and the Mouse."</i>

To please the youthful Prince whom courtly fame
Destines entempled in my works to be,
How shall I write a fable with this name--
<i>Le Chat et la Souris?</i> ("The Cat and the Mouse.")

How can I represent in verse a maid
Who, sweet in aspect, yet still ruthless played
With hearts her charms snared, as you see
<i>Le petit Chat</i> does <i>la Souris?</i>

Shall I sketch Fortune, and show her deceit?--
Tell how she gulls the world with the old cheat?
Treating poor self-complacent friends you see
<i>Comme le Chat</i> does <i>la Souris?</i>

Shall I depict of all earth's royalty
The only one her restless wheel that stays?
The one who wars with Europe's chivalry;
And with the strongest of his foemen plays,
<i>Comme le Chat</i> with <i>la Souris?</i>

But as I write, there comes, insensibly,
The plan that suits me, if I don't mistake;
I should spoil all if lazy I should be:
Mockery the Prince of my poor muse would make,
<i>Comme le Chat</i> of <i>la Souris.</i>

FABLE CCXIX.

THE OLD CAT AND THE YOUNG MOUSE.

A young Mouse, small and innocent,
Implored an Old Cat's clemency:--
"Raminagrobis, let me live!
Your royal mercy, monarch, give!
A Mouse so little, sir, as I
A tiny meal can well supply.
How could I starve a family?
Host, hostess, only look at me;
I fatten on a grain of wheat:
A mite my dinner makes complete.
I'm thin, too, now;--just wait a bit,
And for your children I'll be fit."
Thus to the Cat the Mouse, aggrieved;
The other answered. "You're deceived.
Is it to me you talk like that?
Go, tell the deaf and dumb--not me:
Old Cats don't pardon, so you'll see.
The law condemns, and you must die:
Descend, and tell the Fates that I
Have stopped your preaching, and be sure
My children's meals will not be fewer."
He kept his word; and to my fable
I add a moral, as I'm able:
Youth hopes to win all by address;
But age is ever pitiless.

FABLE CCXX.

THE BAT, THE BUSH, AND THE DUCK.

A Bat, a Bush, and Duck, one day,
Finding home business would not pay,
Resolved their purses to unite,
And risks of foreign trade invite.
Soon with factors, counters, agents,
And all the merchants' usual pageants,
Ledgers, day-books, and all that,
Surrounded, they grew rich and fat.
All went on well, till, lucklessly,
A cargo, trusted to the sea,
And traversing a rock-bound strait,
Ill-piloted, endured the fate
Of all the other treasures which
King Neptune's sea-roofed vaults enrich.
Great cries of grief the trio uttered,--
That is to say, they only muttered:
For every little merchant knows
That credit loves not traders' woes.
But, spite of every cautious plan,
The tale through all the city ran;
And now Duck, Bush, and Bat were seen
Ready to wear the bonnet green,[1]
Without or credit or resources,
For none would ope for them their purses.
All sorts of creditors daily arrived,
With bailiffs and writs; and the door scarce survived
The continual thrum
Of their creditors' glum;
And, of course, the Bush, Bat, and the Duck were intent
To find means this importunate crowd to content.
The Bush, with his thorns, caught the men that went by,
And said, with a sort of a pitiful cry,
"Pray, sirs, can you tell in what part of the sea
The wealth of myself and my partners may be?"
Whilst that diver, the Duck, plunging down out of sight,
Went to find them, he said, if he possibly might.
But the Bat, followed daily by bailiffs and duns,
At noon all the haunts of the human race shuns;
And, stricken with shame, to keep quite out of sight,
Hides in ruins all day, and flies only by night.

Many a debtor have I known--
Neither Bush, nor Bat, nor Duck--
Who even had not such ill luck
As was upon this trio thrown,
But simple lords, who, shunning snares,
Sneaked always down by the back stairs.

[1] An allusion to an ancient custom, which allowed debtors
to be free of their creditors, if they would wear constantly a green
cap; the public disgrace being considered equivalent to a discharge in
full.

FABLE CCXXI.

THE EAGLE AND THE MAGPIE.

The Eagle, queen of the broad sky,
Met, one day, in a field, the Pie--
In mind and language different,
In plumage, and in every bent.
Chance brought them into a by way:
The Magpie was afraid to stay.
The Eagle, having dined but lately,
Assured her calmly and sedately.
"Come, let's be social," said the Eagle, then;
"And if the lord of gods and men
Sometimes is weary of the king
Who rules the universe, the thing
Is clear, that ennui may e'en vex
One who serves Jove. Amuse me!--come,
And chatter as you do at home;
It is not me you will perplex."
The Pie began at once to gabble
On this and that, on lords and rabble;
Just like the man in Horace--just,
Good, bad, indifferent, all on trust;
Talking incessant, and still worse
Than the poor fool in the famed verse.
She offers, if it please his grace,
To skip about, and watch each place
He wishes. Jove knows that the Pie
Was well constructed for a spy.
The eagle answers, angrily,
"Don't leave your home, my tattling friend.
Adieu! I have no wish to send
A gossip to corrupt my court,
And spread each lying, false report:
I hate a gossip." Quite content,
Maggy cared little where she went.
To dwell among the gods or kings
Is not the pleasantest of things;
That honour has its pangs also.
Detractors, spies, and many a foe,
Gracious and bland enough in face,
But false in heart, infest each place,
And make you odious. In courts wear
Coats of two colours, or take care.

FABLE CCXXII.

THE QUARREL OF THE DOGS AND THE CATS; AND, ALSO, THAT OF THE CATS
AND THE MICE.

Discord has always ruled this universe;
Our world of this could many facts rehearse.
This goddess over countless subjects reigns;
The elements not Jupiter himself restrains;
Nor these four potentates alone wage war:
In many races there's a ceaseless jar.
A house once, full of Dogs and Cats, grew free
Of strife, at last, by many a grave decree.
The master fixed their hours, and every meal,
And let the quarrelsome his horsewhip feel.
They live, at last, like cousins, almost brothers,
And furnish quite examples to all others.
At length peace ended;--some stray tempting bone,
Some broth, or little preference to one shown,
Made both belligerents half crazy run.
To plead the grievous injury that's done,
I've heard that learned writers of old law
Attribute this to some small legal flaw.
Be what it might, they both made angry claims,
And set the kitchen and the hall in flames.
Some loud for Dog and some for Cat cried out:
The Cats went mewing, the Dogs whined about.
They deafened every one. Cats' advocate
Referred to the decree; and the debate
Ceased at that word; but still they searched in vain
Where it was hid, and sought and sought again.
The Mice had eaten it; then, lo, once more
The Mice were sufferers--many, many a score
The old Cats swallowed--some, with cruel claws,
Expounded to the Mice their code of laws;
Laid ambuscades; caught them in many ways,
And from their master obtained food and praise.
<i>Mais à nos moutons.</i> Not beneath the skies
Lives there a creature without enemies.
'Tis Nature's law; and how is purblind man
The secret of Gods mysteries to scan?
It is God's will; further I do not go:
We waste our time in trying but to know.
Man is, at sixty years, a wondering fool,
Fit to be whipped, and sent again to school.

FABLE CCXXIII.

LOVE AND FOLLY.

All is mysterious with Love,--
His bow and arrow, torch, and wings.
'Tis not a day's work in a grove.
To master these momentous things.

Explain them my poor muse can not;
My object is but, in my way,
To tell of Cupid's wretched lot,
And how he lost the light of day.

Whether that fate be ill or well
For those whom Cupid since has met,
Lovers alone can rightly tell:
I cannot, though I've felt his net.

Folly and Love together played,
One day, before he lost his sight;
But yet, as people will, they strayed
From friendship, and got stung by spite.

Disputes are really melancholy!
Love wanted all the gods and men
As umpires; but impatient Folly
Preferred it settled there and then;

And gave poor Cupid such a blow,
That both his pretty eyes were seared.
For blessed sight gave blindness--lo!
Their heaven's blue brightness disappeared.

His mother, Venus, heard his grief,
And cried for vengeance, like one mad,
On Jove and Nemesis,--in brief,
On gods of all kinds, good and bad.

The case, she said, was very strong:
Her blind son would require a stick
And dog, to help him walk along.
Alas! for cruel Folly's trick.

The gods poor Cupid's case discussed,--
And boys and girls in love decide,
Decreeing that it's only just,
Folly should Love in future guide.

FABLE CCXXIV.

THE WOLF AND THE FOX.

How comes this general discontent?
Here is a man, for lack of wit,
Longing to live beneath the tent
The soldier's longing so to quit.

A certain Fox aspired to be
A Wolf: and who's prepared to say
The Wolf may not think luxury
Consists in the lamb's peaceful play?

It much surprises me to find
A poet prince, but eight years old,
Who writes prose of a better kind
Than I can verse--aye, twenty fold--
Though long experience makes me bold.

The thoughts throughout his fable spread
Are not a poet's work, I know.
They're numerous and better said;
Unto a prince the praise we owe.

I play upon a simple pipe:
That is my talent--just to please;
But soon my hero, growing ripe,
The clarion will make me seize.

I am no prophet, yet I read
The starry signs that promise give.
His glorious acts will Homer need;
Homer, alas! he does not live.

The Fox said to the Wolf, one day, "My dear,
I have but old tough hens for my poor cheer!
One wearies of the food; but you feed well,
And with less hazard. I, where people dwell,
Slink round, while you keep prudently away.
Teach me your trade, my noble comrade, pray!
Make me the first of all my race who slew
A good fat sheep, and took him for a stew!"
"I shall not be ungrateful," the Wolf said;
"'Tis well, I have a brother newly dead;
Put on his skin." Fox took it, and obeyed.
The Wolf then bid him not to be afraid
Of all the mastiffs of the shepherds flock:
The Fox learnt of his maxims the whole stock,
First blundered much, then studied all he could,
And, lastly, well the precepts understood.
Just as he finished, there came passing by
A drove of sheep. He runs at them--they fly.
The new-made Wolf spreads terror everywhere;
And frightened bleatings fill the troubled air.
So in Achilles arms Patroclus came:--
Mothers and old men shudder at his name.
The sheep see fifty wolves; and, in full cry,
Dogs, sheep, and shepherds to the village fly.
One only, as a hostage, left behind,
Is by the villain seized. Upon the wind,
Just then, came crow of lusty chanticleer:
The pupil snapped the fowl, and without fear,
Threw by his school-dress, all his task forgot,
And ran off, heedless of his future lot.
How useless was this counterfeiting then!
The changed suit hindered not the watchful men.
They follow in his track the self-same day,
And when they find him, they are quick to slay.

From your unequalled mind my poor muse drew
The story and its moral, plain but true.

FABLE CCXXV.

THE CRAB AND ITS DAUGHTER.

Sages are often, like the crabs, inclined
To backward step, and leave their goal behind.
This is the sailor's art, and, now and then,
The artifice of deep, designing men,
Who feign the opposite of their intent,
To put their adversaries off the scent.
My subject is a trifle; but how wide
The field on which its morals may be tried!
Some general may conquer, should he heed it,
An army with a hundred chiefs to lead it.
His plans of march and counter-march may be
At first a secret, then a victory.
No use in prying, when he would conceal;
From Fate's decrees one cannot make appeal.
The tide grows insurmountable, at length;
Against a Jove the gods may waste their strength.
Louis and Fate seem partners now, in glory,
And draw the world along. But to my story.

Said Mother Crab to Daughter Crab, one day,
"How <i>can</i> you step in such an ugly way?
Do try to go a little straighter, dear!"
The little Crab made answer, with a sneer,
"Look at yourself! It's very well to talk,
But it was you who taught me how to walk:
From you, and from your friends, I took my gait;
If they go crooked, how can I go straight?"

She told the truth--for lessons that we learn
From family examples last the longest.
They teach us good and evil, in its turn;
And oft the latter lessons are the strongest.
As to the way of walking, let me add,
That turning backs has often merit in it
In war, for instance, it is far from bad,
If people do it at the proper minute.

FABLE CCXXVI.

THE FOREST AND THE WOODMAN.

A Woodman, with too strong a stroke,
The handle of his brave axe broke,
Broke it beyond repair;
For, though he ranged the Forest-side,
Of proper trees both far and wide
The scanty wood seemed bare.
Then to the sylvan gods he prayed.
That they his steps would sweetly guide
Unto the spot where they had made
That branch for which he sighed.

To gain his bread himself he'd take
Far, far away; and, for their sake.

Would spare both fir and oak.
"Respected are their charms and age,
And graceful in the poet's page"--
'Twas thus the Woodman spoke.
The innocent Forest gave the bough.
The Woodman hacked both oak and fir!
The groaning Forest soon found how
Her gift brought death to her.

Behold the way the world doth spin.
Some men--say, politicians--win
A place: then bite their friend!
Of them I tire. But should dear trees
Bear such rude outrages as these,
And I not mourn their end?
In vain I sing: it is no use;
Although my dart stings where 'tis hurled.
Ingratitude and gross abuse
Are no less in the world.

FABLE CCXXVII.

THE FOX, THE FLIES, AND THE HEDGEHOG.

Wounded and weak, and dripping fast with blood,
A Fox crept wearily through mire and mud.
Quickly attracted by the hopeful sight,
A Fly--a restless, winged parasite--
Came to show sympathy--and bite.
The Fox accused the gods on high,
Thought Fate had vexed him cruelly.
"Why attack me?--am I a treat?
When were the Foxes thought good meat?
I, the most nimble, clever beast,
Am I to be for flies a feast?
Now Heaven confound the paltry thing
So small, yet with so sharp a sting!"
A Hedgehog, hearing all his curses
(His first appearance in my verses),
Wished to set the poor beast free
Of the Flies' importunity.
"My neighbour," said the worthy soul,
"I'll use my darts, and slay the whole."
"For Heaven's sake!" poor Reynard says,
"Don't do it! Let them go their ways.
These animals are full, you see:
New ones will bite more greedily."

Such torments in this land are seen,--
Courtiers and magistrates, I mean.
Great Aristotle likens flies
To certain men; and he was wise.
But when such folk get full of gold,
They're less importunate, I'm told.

FABLE CCXXVIII.

THE HAWK, THE KING, AND THE FALCON.

TO MONSEIGNEUR THE PRINCE DE CONTI.