Chapter VIII: Part 8

'Tis good the provinces should heed:
'Tis better, in good faith I plead,
Unto one powerful king to bend,
Than on poor princelings to depend.

FABLE CLIX.

THE HOROSCOPE.

A Man will sometimes meet his destiny
The moment that he turns ill-luck to flee.
A father had an only son, and dear
He held him; so, as love is kin to fear,
He with astrologers held a debate
About the stars that ruled the infant's fate.
One of these people said the father's care
Should of all lions specially beware.
Till he was twenty, he should keep him in,
And, after that, his safety would begin.
The cautious father, resolute to save
His offspring from the ever-yawning grave,
Knowing the danger turned on one neglect,
Guarded him carefully, in this respect;--
Forbad him exit; barred up every door;
But other pleasures lavished more and more.
With his companions, all the live-long day,
He was allowed to walk, and run, and play.
When he had reached the age that loves the chase,
A closer ward they kept upon the place.
They talked with scorn of all the huntsman's joys,
Spoke of the dangers--mocked the trumpet's noise.
But all in vain were sermons, though well meant;
Nothing can change the force of temperament.
The youth was restless, fiery, hot, and brave;
The stormy impulses came, wave on wave.
He sighed for pleasure;--more the obstacle,
The more desire; in vain they try to quell:
He knew the cause of all his misery.
The spacious house, so rich with luxury,
Was full of pictures, and of tapestry,--
The subjects hunting scenes, and forest glades:
Here animals, there men, strong lights, dark shades,--
The weaver made the lion chief of all:
"Out, monster!" cried the youth, and eyed the wall
With foaming rage: "'tis you that keep me here,
In gloom and fetters. Is it you I fear?"
He spoke, and struck, with all a madman's might,
The beast so innocent. There, out of sight,
Under the hanging, a sharp nail was stuck:
It pricked him deeply, by the worst of luck.
The arts of Æsculapius were in vain:
He joined the shadows that own Pluto's reign.
His death was due to his fond sire's regard,
That in the locked-up palace kept him barred.
It was precaution, too, that whilom slew
The poet Æschylus, if they say true.
It had been prophesied a house should fall
Upon his head, so he shunned tower and wall,
The city left, and camped out on the plain.
Far from all roofs and danger, he was slain:
An eagle, with a tortoise in his grip, flew by;
The poet's bald head, from the upper sky,
Looked like a smooth boulder; the bird let drop
The prey he wished to crush upon the top.
So perished Æschylus. From hence, we see,
The art, if true, led to the misery
That they would shun, all who in it had trust;
But I maintain it's false, and quite unjust.
I'll ne'er believe that Nature ties our hands,
Or would submit herself to such vile bands,
As in the skies to write our future fate;
Times, persons, places, have far greater weight
Than the conjunctions of a charlatan,
Under the self-same planet, tell the man.
Are kings and shepherds born, though one may sway
With golden sceptre, and the other play
With ashen crook? "The will of Jupiter,"--
A star has not a soul, my worthy sir;
Why should its influence affect these two
So diversely? How can it pierce through
That sea of air,--those cloudy gulfs profound,
Mars and the Sun, and pass each fiery bound?
An atom would disturb it on its path.
Horoscope-mongers, let me rouse your wrath:
The state of Europe,--who predicted that?
Did you foresee it?--now, then, answer pat.
Think of each planet's distance, and its speed;
These sage's passions, it is well agreed,
Prevent their judging of our actions right.
On them our fate depends: a planet's course
Goes like our minds, with a still-varying force.
And yet these fools, with compass and with line,
Of men's whole lives would map out a design!
But do not let the tales that I repeat
Weigh in the balance more than it is meet.
The fate of boy and Æschylus came true,
Blind and deceitful though the art be, too.
Once in a thousand times the bull's eye's hit;
That is the good luck of your juggling wit.

FABLE CLX.

THE TORRENT AND THE RIVER.

With a roar and a dreadful sound,
The Torrent dashed down the rock.
All fled from its mighty bound;
And horror followed the shock,
Shaking the fields around.

No Traveller dared essay
To cross the Torrent, save one,
Who, meeting thieves by the way,
And, finding all chances gone,
Rode straight through the foam and spray.

No depth! All menace and din!
The Traveller drew his breath
With courage, and laughed within
Himself at escape from death;
But the thieves resolved to win.

His path they pursue and keep,
Till he comes to a River clear,
Peaceful and tranquil as sleep,
And as far removed from fear:
Its banks are in no way steep.

But pure and glistening sand
Border the placid wave;
He leaves the dangerous land,
To find a treacherous grave:
It was deep, you'll understand.

He drinks of the awful Styx,
For deepest waters are still.
Beware of quiet men's tricks;
But for noisy men--they will
Battle with words, not sticks.

FABLE CLXI.

THE ASS AND THE DOG.

We ought to help each other, wise men say:
An Ass forgot this motto, one fine day.
I know not how our beast ignored the rule,
For he's an amiable, good-natured fool.
A trusty Dog so gravely paced along,
The master took his nap at even-song:
The Ass began to roam about and feed,
And found, at last, a rank and savoury mead.
There were no thistles,--that he must endure:
One must not be too much an epicure.
The feast was still not bad: while aught remains;
'Twould pass for once, the air's fresh on these plains.
The Dog, half dead with hunger, said, at last,
"My dear companion, all this time I fast.
Stoop down a bit, and let the panniers fall;
I'll take my dinner out." No word at all
The Ass vouchsafed, fearing to lose a bite;
At length he deigned to answer the poor wight:
"Friend, when your master rouses from his nap,
He's sure at once to call you on his lap,
And give you a good meal." A Wolf, just then,
Ran forth, half famished, from his forest den.
The Ass called loudly to the Dog to aid;
The Dog stood still. "My friend," he quickly said,
"Fly till your master wakes--he'll not be long;--
Run fast. If caught, avert the coming wrong
With a hard kick, and break the wretch's jaw:
They've shod you lately, and you're right in law.
Mind, stretch him flat." The Dog spoke wise and well.
But the Wolf choked the Ass, and down he fell.

Conclusion:--We should always help each other;
And every man help carry his lame brother.

FABLE CLXII.

THE TWO DOGS AND THE DEAD ASS.

The Virtues must, surely, sisters be,
For that Vices are brothers, we all well know.
And if but to one a man's heart be free,
All the others, like hurricanes, inward blow.
Yet, of course, both of virtues and vices 'tis true
That one heart holds but of either few;
And not more than once in an age we see
The Virtues in one small heart agree.
For if a man be valiant, 'tis sure,
In a thousand cases, he's also rash;
And if he be prudent, the greed for more
Will that respectable virtue dash.
Above all animals beside,
In faithfulness the Dog takes pride;
But, far too oft, for food he craves,
And even dogs are Folly's slaves.

Two Mastiffs, on a certain day,
Beheld a Donkey's carcase floating,
And fain had seized it for their prey,
But baffling winds deceived their gloating.
At length one said, "Your eyes are good,
My friend, so look on yonder flood,
And tell me what is that I see;
If savoury ox or horse it be."
"Of what it is," replied the other,
"What boots it, friend, to make a bother?
For dogs like us, in want of food,
Even a scurvy Ass is good.
The thing that now the most concerns us
Is, how to swim to such a distance,
Against this plaguy wind's resistance.
But, stay! let's quench the thirst that burns us,
By drinking up the river dry;
And when we've quenched our thirst, we'll pass
And gorge us on that savoury Ass."
With haste the Mastiffs now began
To quaff the river as it ran;
But, well-a-day! it came to pass
That, long ere they had reached the Ass,
The twain had long since quenched their thirst,
And, still persisting, nobly burst.
With us weak mortals 'tis the same,
When eager seeking wealth or fame.
What is hopeless seems not so;
So on from ill to ill we go.
A king whose states are amply round,
Will conquer still, to make them square;
And wealthy men, with gold to spare,
Sigh for just fifty thousand pound;
Whilst others, just as foolish, seek
To learn all science,--Hebrew, Greek!
In short, we most of us agree,
'Tis easy work to drain the sea!
A mortal man, to carry out
The projects of his single soul,
Would need four bodies, strong and stout,

And then would not complete the whole.
For, even should his life extend
To twice Methuselah's, depend
Ten thousand years would find him still
Where he began--the total <i>nil.</i>

FABLE CLXIII.

THE ADVANTAGE OF BEING CLEVER.

Between two citizens there once
Arose a quarrel furious;
The one was poor, but full of knowledge
Ripe, and rare, and curious;
The other had not been to college,
And was, though rich, a perfect dunce.
He, far too fondly oft proclaiming
The items of his hoarded pelf,
Declared that learned men but came in
A rank far underneath himself.
The man was quite a fool, and I
Can never understand the why
Or wherefore wealth alone should place
A man above the learned race.
The rich one to the wise one said,
Full often, "Is your table spread
As well as mine? And if not, tell
What boots it that you read so well?
Night after night you sadly clamber
To the dull third-floor's backmost chamber;
And in December's cold you wear
What in hot June would be too bare;
Whilst as for servants, you have none,
Unless you call your shadow one.
Alack! explain to me the fate
Of this or any other State,
If all were there like you, and I
Spent nothing on my luxury?
We rich ones use our wealth, God knows!
And forth from us to artisan,
To tradesman and to courtesan,
In glorious golden floods it flows.
And even you, who write your works
Chiefly to use the knives and forks
Of rich financiers, get your meed
Of what you call our <i>hoarded</i> greed."
These foolish words, need scarce be said,
Simply contemptuous answer had.
The wise man had too much to say
In answer, and so went away.
But, worse than sarcasm, the sword
Of rough invader met the hoard
Of him who had the wealth: the town
In which he dwelt was toppled down.
They left the city, and the one
Who ignorant was [was] soon undone,
And met all men's contempt; whilst he
Who knew the sciences was free
Of all men call society.

The quarrel so at last was ended;
But this is what I always say:
In spite of the fool's yea or nay,
The wise must be commended.

FABLE CLXIV.

THE WOLF AND THE HUNTER.

O Avarice! thou monster, mad for gain;
Whose mind takes in but one idea of good!
How often shall I use my words in vain?
When shall my tales by thee be understood?
Oh, when will man, with heart so cold,
Still ever heaping gold on gold,
Deaf to the bard as to the wise,
At length from his dull drudgery rise,
And learn how sagely to employ it,--
Or know, in plain truth, to enjoy it?
Towards this course make haste, my friend,
For human life has soon an end.
And yet, again, a volume in one word compressing,
I tell you, wealth is only, when enjoyed, a blessing.
"Well," you reply, "to-morrow 'twill be done!"
My friend, you may not see to-morrow's sun;
Ah! like the Hunter and the Wolf, you'll find
'Tis hard to die, and leave your wealth behind.

A Hunter, having deftly slain
A Stag of ten, beheld a Doe;
So, having taken aim again,
Upon the green sward laid it low.
This booty was sufficient quite
For modest Hunter's appetite;
But, lo! a Boar, of form superb,
Starting from the tangled herb,
Tempted the Archer's greed anew,--
The bow was twanged, the arrow flew,--
With futile shears the sister dread
Had frayed his boarship's vital thread.
Full grimly did she now resume
The work at her Tartarean loom,
Nor yet achieved the monsters doom.

Not yet content?--nor ever will be he
Who once has quaffed the cup of victory.
The Boar has just begun to rise,
When, swift, a red-legged partridge flies
Right in the greedy Hunter's view,--
A wretched prize, 'tis very true,
Compared with those already got:
And yet the sportsman takes a shot;
But ere the trigger's pulled, the Boar,
Grown strong for just one effort more,
The Hunter slays, and on him dies:
With thanks, away the partridge flies.

The covetous shall have the best;
The miserly may take the rest.--
A Wolf that, passing by, took note
Of this sad scene, said, "I devote
To Mistress Luck a sumptuous fane.
What! corpses four together slain?
It seems scarce true! But I must be
Prudent midst this satiety,
For such good seldom comes to me."
(This is, of many vain excuses,
The one the miser mostly uses.)
"Enough," the Wolf continued, "here,
To give me for a month good cheer.
Four bodies with four weeks will fit,
But, nathless, I will wait a bit,
And first this Hunter's bowstring chew,
For scent proclaims it catgut true."
Thus saying, on the bow he flings
His hungry form; when, taking wings,
The undischarged bolt quickly flies
Through the Wolf's carcase, and he dies.

And now my text I will repeat--
Wealth, only when enjoyed, is sweet.
Oh, reader, from these gluttons twain
Take warning, ere it be too late.
Through greed was the keen Hunter slain;
Through hoarding up Wolf met his fate.

FABLE CLXV.

JUPITER AND THE THUNDERBOLTS.

Jove, viewing from on high our faults,
Said, one day, in Cerulean vaults,
"Let us 'plenish the earth
With a race of new guests;
For those of Noah's birth
Quite weary me out with their endless requests.
Fly to hell, Mercury!
And bring unto me
The Fury most fierce and most grim of the three!
For that race that I've cherished
Will all soon have perished!"
Thus passionate Jupiter spoke,
But quickly from anger awoke.
And so, let me warn you, O Kings!
Of whom Jupiter makes the mere strings,
To rule and to guide as you will;
For a brief moment pause,
To examine the cause,
Ere you torture your subjects, or kill.
The god with light feet,
And whose tongue's honey sweet,
Went, as ordered, to visit the Fates.
Tisiphone looked at,
Megæra then mocked at;
And, after inspection,
Fixed his choice, of all persons, on ugly Alecton.
Rendered proud by this choice,
With a horrible voice,
The goddess declared,
In the caverns of Death,
That she'd stop all men's breath,
And not one live thing on the earth should be spared.

Unto Mercy's straight path
Jove came back from his wrath,
Annulled the Eumenide's oath;
Nothing loath.
Yet his thunders he threw
At the vile mortal crew;
And one might have thought
That destruction were wrought;
But the fact was just this--
The bolts managed to miss.
For the Thund'rer's pride
With our fear's satisfied.
He was father of men,
And so he knew when,
As papas mortal know too,
What distance to throw to.
But, with mercy thus treated,
Man, with wickedness heated,
Grew so vicious, at last,
That Jove swore he would cast
And crush our weak race,
Their Creator's disgrace.
But yet he still smiled;
For a father his child
Strikes with merciful hand.
So at last it was planned
That god Vulcan should have
The duty of sending us men to the grave.
With bolts of two sorts
Vulcan fills his black courts;
And of these two there's one
That Heaven throws straight,
When it fills up its hate,
And the thread of a man's life is done.
The other falls only
On mountain tops lonely;
And this kind alone
By great Jupiter's thrown.

FABLE CLXVI.

THE FALCON AND THE CAPON.

A treacherous voice will sometimes call;
Hear it, but trust it not at all.
Not meaningless the thing I tell,
But like the clog of Jean Nivelle.
A citizen of Mons, by trade,
A Capon, one day, was dismayed,
Being summoned, very suddenly,
Before his master's Lares; he
Disliked that tribunal, the spit
(It was a fowl of ready wit).
Yet all the folks, their scheme to hide,
"Coop, coop, coop, coop," so softly cried.
"Your servant; your gross bait is vain;
You won't catch me, I say again."
All this a Falcon saw, perplexed:
What had the silly creature vexed?
Instinct, experience, or no,
Fowls have no faith in us, I know;
And this one, caught with endless trouble,
To-morrow in a pot would bubble,
Or in a stately dish repose--
Small honour, as the Capon knows.
The Falcon the poor creature blamed;
"I am astonished! I'm ashamed!
You scum! you <i>canaille!</i> how you act!
You're half an idiot, that's a fact.
I come back to my master's fist,
And hunt for him whate'er he list.
Why, see, he's at the window, there;
You're deaf; he's calling, I declare."
"I know too well," the Fowl replied,
Not caring for the Falcon's pride:
"What does he want to say to me?
The cook has got his knife, I see.
Would <i>you</i> attend to such a bait?
Now, let me fly, or I'm too late;
So, cease to mock. Nay, now, good master,
That wheedling voice portends disaster!
Had you seen at the friendly hearth
As many Falcons of good birth
As I've seen Capons put to roast,
You'd not reproach me with vain boast."

FABLE CLXVII.

THE TWO PIGEONS.

Two Pigeons once, as brother [brother],
With true affection loved each other;
But one of them, foolishly, tired of home,
Resolved to distant lands to roam.
Then the other one said, with piteous tear,
"What! brother, and would you then leave me here?
Of all the ills that on earth we share,
Absence from loved ones is bitterest woe!
And if to your heart this feeling's strange,
Let the dangers of travel your purpose change,
And, oh, at least for the spring-tide wait!
I heard a crow, on a neighbouring tree,

Just now, predicting an awful fate
For some wretched bird; and I foresee
Falcons and snares awaiting thee.
What more can you want than what you've got--
A friend, a good dwelling, and wholesome cot?"
The other, by these pleadings shaken,
Almost had his whim forsaken;
But still, by restless ardour swayed,
Soon, in soothing tones, he said--
"Weep not, brother, I'll not stay
But for three short days away;
And then, quite satisfied, returning,
Impart to you my travelled learning.
Who stays at home has nought to say;
But I will have such things to tell,--
'Twas there I went,'--'It thus befel,'--
That you will think that you have been
In every action, every scene."
Thus having said, he bade adieu,
And forth on eager pinion flew;
But ere a dozen miles were past,
The skies with clouds grew overcast;
All drenched with rain, the Pigeon sought
A tree, whose shelter was but nought;
And when, at length, the rain was o'er,
His draggled wings could scarcely soar.
Soon after this, a field espying,
Whereon some grains of corn were lying,
He saw another Pigeon there,
And straight resolved to have his share.
So down he flies, and finds, too late,
The treacherous corn is only there
To tempt poor birds to hapless fate.
As the net was torn and old, however,
With beak, and claw, and fluttering wing,
And by despairs supreme endeavour,
He quickly broke string after string;
And, with the loss of half his plumes,
Joyous, his flight once more resumes.
But cruel fate had yet in store
A sadder evil than before;
For, as our Pigeon slowly flew,
And bits of net behind him drew,
Like felon, just from prison 'scaped,
A hawk his course towards him shaped.
And now the Pigeon's life were ended,
But that, just then, with wings extended,
An eagle on the hawk descended.
Leaving the thieves to fight it out,
With beak and talon, helter-skelter,
The Pigeon 'neath a wall takes shelter;
And now believes, without a doubt,
That for the present time released,
The series of his woes has ceased.
But, lo! a cruel boy of ten
(That age knows not compassion's name),
Whirling his sling, with deadly aim,
Half kills the hapless bird, who then,
With splintered wing, half dead, and lame,
His zeal for travel deeply cursing,
Goes home to seek his brother's nursing.
By hook or by crook he hobbled along,
And arrived at home without further wrong.
Then, united once more, and safe from blows,
The brothers forgot their recent woes.

Oh, lover, happy lovers! never separate, I say,
But by the nearest rivulet your wandering footsteps stay.
Let each unto the other be a world that's ever fair,
Ever varied in its aspects, ever young and debonair.
Let each be dear to each, and as nothing count the rest.
I myself have sometimes been by a lover's ardour blest,
And then I'd not have changed for any palace here below,
Or for all that in the heavens in lustrous splendour glow,
The woods, and lanes, and fields, which were lightened by
the eyes,
Which were gladdened by the feet of that shepherdess so
fair,--
So sweet, and good, and young, to whom, bound by Cupid's
ties,--
Fast bound, I thought, for ever, I first breathed my oaths
in air.
Alas! shall such sweet moments be never more for me?
Shall my restless soul no more on earth such tender objects
see?
Oh, if I dared to venture on the lover's path again,
Should I still find sweet contentment in Cupid's broad domain?
Or is my heart grown torpid?--are my aspirations vain?

FABLE CLXVIII.

EDUCATION.

Cæsar and Laridon, his brother,
Both suckled by the same dear mother,
Sprang from an ancient royal race;
Right hardy in the toiling chase.
Two masters shared the noble brood;
And one the kitchen, one the wood
Made his home. Yet still the same,
They both kept their former name.
Place and custom altered them
In their nature, not in limb.
The one dog purchased by the cook,
Laridon for title took.
His brother to renown soon soars,
Slays by dozens stags and boars.
Soon as Cæsar he was known,
And as wonderful was shown.
But for Laridon none cared,
Or his children--how they fared.
So the Turnspits spread through France--
Vulgar dogs, that toil or dance:
Timid creatures, as one sees
Cæsar's true antipodes.

Time, neglect, and luckless fate
Make a race degenerate;
Wise men's sons turn simpletons;
Cæsars become Laridons.

FABLE CLXIX.

THE MADMAN WHO SOLD WISDOM.

Never get in a Madman's reach:
Ye wise men, listen to my speech.
It's my advice--or right or wrong--
To flee from such crazed folk headlong;
In courts you often see them stalk,
The prince smiles at them in his walk;
To rogue and fool, and the buffoon,
They serve for jokes from morn to noon.--
A Madman once, in market-place,
Said he sold Wisdom. The dolts race
To buy the treasure. What fun is his,
Watching the silly people's phizzes,
When for their money they obtain
A blow that gives their red ears pain,
And forty yards of common thread.
Some were indignant; they, instead
Of pity, only mockery got.
The best way was to bear one's lot,
And walk off laughing; or else go
Home, and not talk about the blow.
To ask the meaning of all this
Was to secure a wise man's hiss;
There is no reason in such folks.
'Tis chance begets such crazy jokes,
And yet the thread it was mysterious.
One of the dupes who took it serious
Went to consult a sage he knew,
Who replied thus at the first view:--
"These hieroglyphics I can see;
People of sense infallibly
Between themselves and madmen place
At least some fathoms of this lace;
Or else they will a buffet gain,
And never much redress obtain.
You are not gulled; a crazy fool
Has sold you wisdom from his school."

FABLE CLXX.

THE CAT AND THE RAT.

Four animals, of natures various,
Living lives the most precarious,
Together dwelt, and yet apart,
Close to, and e'en within the heart
Of a most ancient pine.
The one was Master Cat, who claws;
Another, Master Rat, who gnaws;
The Weasel third, with waist so fine,
And of a very ancient line.
The fourth was sapient Master Owl,
Whose midnight hoot disturbs the ghoul.
One night, a man about their tree
A snare disposed with secresy;
And Master Cat, at early dawn,
From couch with hope of plunder drawn,
Scarce half awake, fell plump within
The cruelly-invented gin.
Such caterwauling then arose,
That Master Gnaw-cheese hurried round
To see, in fetters safely bound,
The deadliest of his special foes.
Then Master Purrer softly cried,
"Sir Rat, your true benevolence
Is known in all the country wide;
So pray, for pity, take me hence
From this atrocious, strangling snare
In which I've fallen, unaware;
'Tis strange, but true, that you alone,
Of all the Rats I've ever known,
Have won my heart, and, thank the skies!
I've loved you more than both my eyes.
[']Twas just as I was on my way,
As all devout ones should, to pray,
At early dawn, that I was pent
Within this cursed instrument.
My life is in your hands, my friend;
Pray, with your tooth these, shackles rend."
But curtly then replied the Rat,
"Pray, say what I should gain by that?"
"My friendship true, for evermore,"
The Cat replied. "These talons grim
Shall be your guard; the Owl no more
Should watch your nest; the Weasel slim
Shall never make of you his meat."
"Not such a fool," replied the Rat,
"Am I as to release a Cat!"
And forthwith sought his snug retreat;
But near the narrow hole he sought
The Weasel watched, perhaps meaning nought.
Still further upward climbed the Rat,
To where the great Owl grimly sat;
At last, by dangers menaced round,
Sir Gnaw-cheese once more seeks the ground,
And, working hard with practised grinder,
Relieves poor Puss from cords that bind her.
The task is just completed,
When the ruthless man appears,
And, overwhelmed with equal fears,
The new allies by different paths retreated.
Soon after this adventure
The Cat beheld, one sunny day,
Snug in a place from cats secure,
His friend the Rat, and said, "I pray,
Come, let's embrace, we are friends again.
It gives me, on my word, true pain
To think that one to whom I owe
My life should deem me still his foe!"
"And do you think," replied the Rat,
"That I am ignorant of a Cat?
I know within your bosom lies
The germ of all hypocrisies."

To trust to friendships that rogues feign
Is leaning on a straw, 'tis plain.

FABLE CLXXI.

DEMOCRITUS AND THE ABDERANIANS.

How I the base and vulgar hate:
Profane, unjust, and obstinate!
So ever prone, with lip and eye,
To turn the truth to calumny!

The master of great Epicurus
Suffered from this rabble once;
Which shows e'en learning can't secure us
From the malice of the dunce.
By all the people of his town
Was cried, "Democritus is mad!"
But in his own land, well 'tis known,
No prophet credit ever had.
The truth within a nutshell lies:
His friends were fools,--and he was wise.
The error spread to such extent,
That, at length, a deputation,
With letters from Abdera's nation,
To famed Hippocrates was sent,
With humble, earnest hope that he
For madness might find remedy.
"Our fellow-townsman," weeping said
The deputation, "lost his head
Through too much reading. Would that he
Had only read as much as we!
To know how truly he insane is,
He says, for instance, nought more plain is,
Than that this earth is only one
Of million others round the sun;
And all these shining worlds are full
Of people, wise as well as dull.
And, not content with dreaming thus,
With theories strange he puzzles us;
Asserting that his brain consists
Of some queer kind of airy mists.
And, more than this, he says, that though
He measures stars from earth below,
What he himself is he don't know!
Long since, in friendly conversation,
He was the wit of all the nation;
But now alone he'll talk and mumble:
So, great physician, if you can,
Pray come and cure this poor old man."
Hippocrates, by all this jumble,
Was not deceived, but still he went;--
And here we see how accident
Can bring such meetings 'tween ourselves
As scarce could managed be by elves.
Hippocrates arrived, to find
That he whom all men called a fool
Was sage, and wise, and calm, and cool,--
Still searching for the innate mind
In heart and brain of beast and man.
Retired beneath a leafy grove,
Through which a murmuring brooklet ran,
The sage, with patient ardour, strove
The labyrinths of a skull to scan.
Beside him lay full many a scroll
By ancients written; and his soul
Was wrapt in learned thought so wholly,
That scarce he saw his friend advance:
Their greeting was but just a glance;--
For sages right well know the folly
Of idle compliment and word.
So, throwing off all forms absurd,
They spoke, in language large and free,
Of man, his soul and destiny;
And then discussed the secret springs
Which move all bad or holy things.
But 'tis not meet that I rehearse
Such weighty words in humble verse.

From this short story we may see
How much at fault the mob may be;
And this being so, pray tell me why
Some venture to proclaim aloud
That in the clamour of the crowd
We hear the voice of Deity?

FABLE CLXXII.

THE OYSTER AND ITS CLAIMANTS.

Two travellers discovered on the beach
An Oyster, carried thither by the sea.
'Twas eyed with equal greediness by each;
Then came the question whose was it to be.
One, stooping down to pounce upon the prize,
Was thrust away before his hand could snatch it.
"Not quite so quickly," his companion cries;
"If <i>you've</i> a claim here, <i>I've</i> a claim to match it;
The first that saw it has the better right
To its possession; come, you can't deny it."
"Well," said his friend, "my orbs are pretty bright,
And <i>I</i>, upon my life, was first to spy it."
"You? Not at all; or, if you <i>did</i> perceive it,
I <i>smelt</i> it long before it was in view;
But here's a lawyer coming--let us leave it
To him to arbitrate between the two."
The lawyer listens with a stolid face,
Arrives at his decision in a minute;
And, as the shortest way to end the case,
Opens the shell and cats the fish within it.
The rivals look upon him with dismay:--
"This Court," says he, "awards you each a shell;
You've neither of you any costs to pay,
And so be happy. Go in peace. Farewell!"

How often, when causes to trial are brought,
Does the lawyer get pelf and the client get naught!
The former will pocket his fees with a sneer,
While the latter sneaks off with a flea in his ear.

FABLE CLXXIII.

THE FRAUDULENT TRUSTEE.

Animals I've sung in verse,
Memory's daughters aiding;
Perhaps I should have done far worse,
In other heroes trading.
In my book the dogs sit down
With wolves in conversation;
And beasts dressed up in vest and gown,
All sorts, of every nation,
Reflect each kind of folly duly,
My verse interprets them so truly.
Fools there are, and wise there are,
But my heroes I can't flatter;
For 'tis certain that, by far,
The former ones exceed the latter.
Swindlers I have painted often--
Brutes whom kindness cannot soften;
Tyrants, flatterers, and the crew
Who take your gifts, then bite at you.
In my pages you'll find many
Examples of the utter zany;
But chiefly have I had to do
With those who say what is not true.
The ancient wise man cried aloud,
"All men are liars!" Had he stated
This fact but of the wretched crowd,
E'en then I should have hesitated;
But that we mortals, great and small,
Both good and bad, are liars all,
I should deny at once, of course,
Did I not know the maxim's source.
But he who lies as Æsop lies,
Or, to go a little higher,
As old Homer, is no liar;
For the charming dreams we prize,
With which they have enriched the world,
Are brightest truths in fiction furled.
The works of such should live for ever;
And he who lies like them lies never.
But he who should attempt to lie
As a Fraudulent Trustee did,
A liar is, most certainly,
And should suffer for't as he did.
The story tells us
That, proposing
To journey into foreign lands,
A merchant, in the Persian trade--
In friends all confidence reposing--
Agreement with a neighbour made,
To leave some iron in his hands.
"My metal?" said he, coming back.
"Your metal! 'tis all gone, alack!
A rat has eaten up the lot!
I've scolded all my slaves, God wot!
But, in spite of all control,
A granary floor <i>will</i> have a hole."
The merchant opened well his eyes,
And never hinted aught of lies;
But soon he stole his neighbour's child,
And then he asked the rogue to dine.
To which the other answered, wild
With anguish, "Sir, I must decline--
I loved a child--I have but one--
<i>I have!</i> What say I? I have none,
For he is stolen!" Then replies
The Merchant, "With my own two eyes,
On yester eve, at close of day,
I saw your offspring borne away,
With many a struggle, many a howl,
To an old ruin, by an owl."
"An owl," the father cried, "convey
To such a height so big a prey!
My son could kill a dozen such;
For my belief this is too much!"
"I do not that deny," replies
His friend, "yet saw it with these eyes;
And wherefore should you think it strange
That in a land where rats can steal
A ton of iron from a grange,
An owl should seize a boy of ten,
Fly with him to his lofty den.
And of him make a hearty meal?"
The Fraudulent Trustee perceived
Which way the artful story tended,
Gave back the goods, the man received
His child, and so the matter ended.

Between two Travellers, on their road,
Dispute arose, in a strange mode:--
The one a story-teller, such
As oft are met with, who can't touch
On any great or trivial topic,
Without the use--that is, abuse--
Of lenses microscopic.
With them all objects are gigantic,
Small ponds grow huge as the Atlantic.
The present instance said he "knew
A cabbage once that grew so tall,
It topped a lofty garden wall."
"I'm sure," replied his friend, "'tis true,
For I myself a pot have met,
Within which no large church could get."
The first one such a pot derided:
"Softly, my friend," rejoined the second;
"You quite without your host have reckoned;
To boil your cabbage was my pot provided!"

The man of the monstrous pot was a wag,
The man of the iron adroit;
And if ever you meet with a man who'll brag,
Never attempt to stint him a doit,
But match his long bow with your strong bow.

FABLE CLXXIV.

JUPITER AND THE TRAVELLER.

The gods our perils would make wealthy,
If we our vows remembered, when once made.
But, dangers passed, and we, all safe and healthy,
Forget the promises on altars laid;
We only think of what we owe to men.
Jove, says the atheist, is a creditor
Who never sends out bailiffs; if so, then
What is the thunder meant as warning for?
A Passenger, in tempest tossed and rolled,
To Jupiter a hundred oxen offered.
He hadn't one; had he been only bold,
A hundred elephants he would have proffered:
They'd cost him not a single farthing more.
Suddenly mounted unto great Jove's nose
The scent of beef bones burnt upon the shore.
"Accept my promised vow," the rascal crows;
"'Tis ox you smell: the smoke is all for thee:
Now we are quits." Jove smiled a bitter smile;
But, some days after, sent a dream, to be
The recompense of that man's wicked guile.
The dream informed him where a treasure lay:
The man ran to it, like a moth to flame.
Some robbers seized him. Having nought to pay,
He promised them at once, if they but came
Where he'd a hundred talents of good gold.
The place, far off, pleased not the wary thieves;
And one man said, "My comrade, I am told
You mock us; and he dies, whoe'er deceives.
Go and take Pluto, for an offering,
Your hundred talents: they will please the king."

FABLE CLXXV.

THE APE AND THE LEOPARD.

An Ape and a Leopard one day repair--
Money to gain--to a country fair,
And setting up separate booths they vie,
Each with each, in the arts of cajolery.
"Come, see me," cries Leopard, "come, gentlemen come,
The price of admission's a very small sum;
To the great in all places my fame is well known,
And should death overtake me, the king on his throne
Would be glad of a robe from my skin;
For 'tis mottled and wattled,
And stained and ingrained
With spots and with lines, lines and spots thick and thin,
That truly, though modest, I can but declare,
'Tis by far the most wonderful thing in the fair."
This bounce attained its end, and so
The gulls came hurrying to the show;
But, the sight seen, and the cash spent,
They went away in discontent.
Meanwhile the Ape cries--"Come, and see
The sum of versatility!
Yon Leopard boasts, through thick and thin,
A splendid show of outside skin;
But many varied gifts I have
(For which your kind applause I crave)
All safely lodged my brain within.
Your servant I, Monsieur Guffaw,
The noble Bertrand's son-in-law,
Chief monkey to his Holiness
The Pope. I now have come express,
In three huge ships, to have with you
The honour of an interview:
For speaking is my special forte,
And I can dance, and hoops jump through,
And other kinds of tumbling do,
And magic feats perform of every sort;
And for six blancos? no, I say, a sou;
But if with the performance you
Are discontented, at the door
To each his money we'll restore."
And right was the Ape:
For the colour and shape
Of fine clothes can but please for awhile,
Whilst the charms of a brain
That is witty, remain,
And for ever can soothe and beguile.
Ah! there's many a one,
Lord and gentleman's son,
Who holds high estate here below,
Who to Leopards akin
Has nought but fine skin
As the sum of his merits to show.

FABLE CLXXVI.

THE ACORN AND THE GOURD.

All that Jove does is wise and good,
I need not travel far abroad
To make this maxim understood,
But take example from a Gourd.

Observing once a pumpkin,
Of bulk so huge on stem so small,
"What meant he," cried a bumpkin,
"Great Jove, I mean, who made us all,
By such an act capricious?
If my advice were asked by Heaven,
To yonder oaks the gourds were given,
And 'twould have been judicious;
For sure it is good taste to suit
To monstrous trees a monstrous fruit.
And truly, Tony, had but he
Whom the priests talk of asked of me
Advice on here and there a point,
Things would not be so out of joint.
For why, to take this plain example,
Should not the Acorn here be hung--
For it this tiny stem is ample--
Whilst on the oak the pumpkin swung?
The more I view this sad abortion
Of all the laws of true proportion,
The more I'm sure the Lord of Thunder
Has made a very serious blunder."
Teased by this matter, Tony cries,
"One soon grows weary when one's wise;"
Then dozing 'neath an oak he lies.
Now, as he slept, an Acorn fell
Straight on his nose, and made it swell.
At once awake, he seeks to trace
With eager hand what hurt his face,
And in his beard the Acorn caught,
Discovers what the pain had wrought.
And now, by injured nose induced,
Our friend takes up a different tone--
"I bleed, I bleed!" he makes his moan,
"And all is by this thing produced:
But, oh! if from the tree, instead,
A full-grown Gourd had struck my head!
Ah! Jove, most wise, has made decree
That Acorns only deck the tree,
And now I quite the reason see."

Thus in a better frame of mind
Homeward went our honest hind.

FABLE CLXXVII.

THE SCHOOL-BOY, THE PEDANT, AND THE NURSERY GARDENER.

A certain Boy, half-spoiled at school--
Your Pedants spoil lads, as a rule;
Ten times a fool, ten times a rogue
They'd made this mischievous young dog.--
A neighbour's flowers and fruits he stole:
A man who struggled, heart and soul,
To raise Pomona's choicest treasure:
In what was bad he had no pleasure.
Each season did its tribute bring,
And Flora's gifts were his in spring.
One day he saw upon a tree
The boy climb up, and recklessly
Spoil half the buds, the promise dear
Of future plenty for the year;--
He even broke the boughs. At last
The Gardener to the school ran fast.
The Master came, with all his train
Of lads. "Of what does he complain?"
The orchard's full of dreadful boys,
Worse than the first, in tricks and noise.
The Pedant, though he meant not to,
Made the first evil double grow.
The Pedant was so eloquent
About the sin and ill intent;
It was a lesson not forgot
By the whole school, an ill-taught lot;
He often cites the Mantuan bard;
At rhetoric toils hot and hard.
So long his speech, the wicked race
Had time enough to spoil the place.

I hate your misplaced eloquence,
Endless, ill-timed, and without sense;
And no fool I detest so bad
As an ill-taught and thievish lad,
Except his Master; yet the best
Of these is a bad neighbour, 'tis confessed.

FABLE CLXXVIII.

THE CAT AND THE FOX.

The Fox and Cat, two saints indeed,
To make a pilgrimage agreed:
Two artful hypocrites they were,--
Soft-footed, sly, and smooth, and fair.
Full many a fowl, and many a cheese,
Made up for loss of time and ease.
The road was long, and weary too:
To shorten it, to talk they flew.
For argument drives sleep away,
And helps a journey on, they say.
The Fox to the Cat says, "My friend,

To be so clever you pretend;
Say what am I? I've in this sack
A hundred tricks." "Well, on my back,"
The other, very timid, said,
"I've only one, I'm quite afraid;
But that, I hold, is worth a dozen,
My enemies to cheat and cozen."
Then the dispute began anew,
With "So say I!" and "I tell you!"
Till, suddenly, some hounds in sight
Silenced them soon, as it well might.
The Cat cries, "Search your bag, my friend,
Or you are lost, you may depend:
Choose out your choicest stratagem!"
Puss climbed a tree, and baffled them.
The Fox a hundred burrows sought:
Turned, dodged, and doubled, as he thought,
To put the terriers at fault,
And shun their rough and rude assault.
In every place he tried for shelter,
But begged it vainly; helter skelter,
The hounds were on the treacherous scent,
That still betrayed, where'er he went.
At last, as from a hole he started,
Two swift dogs on poor Reynard darted;
Then came up all the yelping crew,
And at his throat at once they flew.

Too many schemes spoil everything,
We lose our time in settling.
Have only one, as wise man should:
But let that one be sound and good.

FABLE CLXXIX.

THE SCULPTOR AND THE STATUE OF JUPITER.

A Block of marble shone so white,
A Sculptor bought it, and, that night,
Said, "Now, my chisel, let's decree:
God, tank, or table, shall it be?

"We 'll have a god--the dream I clasp;
His hand a thunderbolt shall grasp.
Tremble, ye monarchs, ere it's hurled!
Behold the master of the world!"

So well the patient workman wrought
In stone the vision of his thought,
The people cried at last, "Beseech
The gods to grant it power of speech!"

Some even dared the crowd to tell
That, when the chisel's last blow fell,
The Sculptor was the first with dread
To turn away his trembling head.

The ancient poet's not to blame,
For weak man's terror, fear, and shame
The gods invented in each age,
Abhorring human hate and rage.

The sculptor was a child; confess,
His mind, like children's in distress,
Tormented by this ceaseless sorrow,
His doll might angry be to-morrow.

The heart obeys its guide, the mind:
And from this source there flows, we find,
This Pagan error, which we see
Widen to all infinity.

We all embrace some favourite dream,
And follow it down flood and stream.
Pygmalion was in love, 'tis said,
With Venus that himself had made.

Each turns his dream into a truth,
And tries to fancy it all sooth.
Ice to the facts before his face,
But burning falsehood to embrace.

FABLE CLXXX.

THE MOUSE METAMORPHOSED INTO A GIRL.

A Mouse from the beak of an owl fell down,
A Brahmin lifted it up, half dead:
Tenderly nursed it, and tamed it, and fed.
I could not have done such an act, I own;
But every land has its own conceit:
With a Mouse I'd rather not sit at meat.
But Brahmins regard a flea as a friend,
For they think that the soul of a king may descend
To some beast, or insect, or dog, or mite,--
Pythagoras taught them this law erudite.
Thus believing, the Brahmin a sorcerer prayed
That the Mouse might resume some more elegant dress.
The wise man consented, and, truth to confess,
Performed his task well, for the Mouse became Maid,--
Ah! a Maid of fifteen--such an elegant creature,
Of a form so genteel, of such exquisite feature,
That if Paris had met her, that amorous boy
Would have risked, to possess her, full many a Troy.
Surprised at the sight of a being so fair,
The Brahmin said, "Darling, you've but to declare
Whom you'll have for a husband, for none will refuse
Such a beautiful bride;--you have only to choose."
Then the Maiden replied, "I confess that I long
For a husband that's valiant, and noble, and strong."
Then the Brahmin knelt down, and addressing the Sun,
Cried, "Noblest of living things, you are the one!"
But the Lord of the Daylight replied, "'Tis not true
That I am so strong; for the Cloud you see yonder,
Piled high with the rain, and the hail, and the thunder,
Could hide me at once, if he chose, from your view."
To the Cloud, then, appealing, the Brahmin declared
That with him, Lord of Storms, his child's fate should
be shared.
"No, No!" said the dark Cloud; "it never can be,
For at each breath of wind I am driven to flee.
If you'd have for a son-in-law somebody strong,
Your Maid to the North Wind should fairly belong."
Disgusted with constant refusals like these,
The Brahmin appealed to the wild, roving Breeze;
And the Breeze was quite willing to wed the fair Maid,
But a Mountain Top huge his love's pilgrimage stayed.
The ball, at this game of "a lover to find,"
Now passed to the Hill, but he quickly declined;
"For," said he, "with the Rat I'm not friends, and, I know,
If I took the fair Maid, he would gnaw at me so."
At the mention of Rat, the fair Maiden, with glee,
Cried, "'Tis Rat, and Rat only, my husband shall be!"
See a Girl for a Rat now Apollo forsaking!
It was one of those strokes which Love glories in making.
And, 'twixt you and me, such strange instances are,
'Mongst girls that we know of, more frequent than rare.

With men and with beasts it is ever the same:
They still show the trace of the place whence they came;
And this fable may aid us to prove it; but yet,
On a nearer inspection, some sophistry's met
In its traits; for, to trust to this fanciful story,
Any spouse were more good than the Sun in his glory.

But, what! shall I say that a giant is less
Than a flea, because fleas can a giant distress?
The Rat, if this rule must be strictly obeyed,
Of his wife to the Cat would a present have made:
And the Cat to the Dog, and the Dog to the Bear;
Till, at length, by a sort of a high-winding stair,
The story had brought us where first 'twas begun,
And the beautiful Maid would have married the Sun.

But let us return to the Metempsychosis
The truth of which, firstly, this fable supposes.
It seems to me plain that the fable itself
The system decidedly puts on the shelf.
According to Brahmin law, animals all
That inhabit the earth, be they mighty or small,--
Be they men, mice, or wolves, or e'en creatures more coarse,--
Their souls have derived from one general source;
And vary, in physical actions, just so
As the form of their organs may force them to do.
And if this be the case, then, how came it that one
Of so fine-formed a frame did not wed with the Sun?
Whereas, as we know, to a Rat she devoted
The charms on which many a king would have doated.

All things considered, I'll declare
That girl and mouse souls different are.
We must our destiny fulfil,
As ordered by the sovereign will.
Appeal to magic,--it is all in vain;
The soul, once born, will still the same remain.

FABLE CLXXXI.

THE MONKEY AND THE CAT.

Bertrand and Raton--a Monkey and Cat--
Were messmates in mischief, with roguery fat;
There was nothing they feared, there was nothing they spared,
And whatever they plundered they usually shared.
If anything close by was stealable, they
Would never go foraging out of their way.
Bertrand stole everything Raton to please,
And Raton cared less for the mice than the cheese.
One day at the fire, when all clear was the coast,
The pair were both spying some chesnuts at roast:
To steal a good meal is its pleasure to double;
Besides, it would bring the cook's man into trouble.
Says Bertrand to Raton, "My brother, you see,
Fate's given a moment of glory to thee;
Get those chesnuts, and quickly, my brave one, I pray,
The gods have vouchsafed us a dinner to-day."
And so to snatch chesnuts poor Raton agreed,
And at once set to work on the dangerous deed.
With gingerly touch he the cinders withdrew,
And snatched the hot prizes, first one, and then two.
He has pilfered quite half, but has not eaten one;
The eating his comrade, Bertrand, has done.
A scullion comes--there's adieu to the theft--
And Raton is empty and querulous left.

Your nobles are much in a similar case,
Who as flatterers dangerous service embrace;
And to gratify kings, fingers often will burn,
Then homeward, though wiser, still poorer return.

FABLE CLXXXII.

THE WOLF AND THE STARVED DOG.