Part 2
But scarce a year went by, an artiste shouts, "I have it now,--ye 're all a pack of louts!-- With nice tomatoes all my eggs are stewed." And the whole island thought the mode so good, That they would so have cooked them to this day, But that a stranger, wandering out that way, Another dish the gaping natives taught, And showed them eggs cooked _à la Huguenot_.
Successive cooks thus proved their skill diverse; But how shall I be able to rehearse All of the new, delicious condiments That luxury, from time to time, invents? Soft, hard and dropped; and now with sugar sweet, And now boiled up with milk, the eggs they eat; In sherbet, in preserves; at last they tickle Their palates fanciful with eggs in pickle. All had their day--the last was still the best. But a grave senior thus, one day, addressed The epicures: "Boast, ninnies, if you will, These countless prodigies of gastric skill-- But blessings on the man who brought the hens!"
* * * * *
Beyond the sunny Philippines Our crowd of modern authors need not go New-fangled modes of cooking eggs to show.
FABLE XIII.
THE DUCK AND THE SNAKE.
On the borders of a pond Stood a Duck, discoursing thus: "Nature to me is generous All creatures else beyond.
For my life, it hath no bound Water, earth or air within; I can fly or I can swim, When a-weary of the ground."
A cunning Snake stood by. And heard the vaunting strain; And hissing said, "How vain To hold yourself so high!
Not on land with the fleet Stag, Or swift Falcon in the air, Can you make good your brag: In the water, too, the Trout Will beat you out and out: You with neither can compare."
* * * * *
The wise man knoweth well, That it is not wisdom's end In all things to pretend,-- But in something to excel.
FABLE XIV.
THE MUFF, THE FAN, AND THE UMBRELLA.
If some absurd presumption show-- In seeking everything to know, To serve but for a single use May also be without excuse.
Upon a table, once, together lay A Muff, Umbrella, and a Fan. In dialect such as, in a former day, The Pot unto the Kettle spoke. The Umbrella silence broke, And to his two companions thus began:
"Now pretty articles are not ye both! You, Muff, in winter serve your purpose well; But, when spring comes about, in idle sloth In a dark corner must forgotten dwell. You, Fan, an useless thing become, in turn, When heat declines in summer's glowing urn,
And cold winds take your office quite away. Learn now, from me, a broader part to play. To shield the head from rains of wintry skies, I, as Umbrella, serve the turn; Again, like praise I earn When summer's ardent rays the Parasol defies."
FABLE XV.
THE FROG AND THE TADPOLE.
On Tagus' banks, in artless wonder, A little Tadpole, on a canebrake gazing, Long with its mother chatted of the leaves, Of the huge stalks, and verdure so amazing; But now the air with the fierce tempest heaves, And the rough winds the canebrake rent asunder-- A broken cane into the stream fell over; "Come, look, my child," now said the thoughtful mother, "Without, so strong, luxuriant and smooth-- Within, all pith and emptiness, forsooth!"
* * * * *
If our good Frog some poets' works had read, Perchance, of them she might the same have said.
FABLE XVI.
THE BUSTARD.
The sluggish Bustard, in her foolish pate, Vexed with her young ones' awkward flight, Purposed to raise a brood more light, Even though 't were illegitimate.
For this end many an egg she stole From Partridge, Pigeon and the Kite, And sundry birds of easy flight; And in her nest mixed up the whole.
Long while and patiently she sat upon them; Though some proved addled, yet, in time, the rest With a fine brood of nurslings filled the nest; And many a kind, of course, was found among them.
A host of birds collects, at her request, To admire her progeny, so rare and new; But each away with his own offspring flew, And left poor Bustard with an empty nest.
Ye, who the ideas of other men brood over,-- Bring out your fledglings. Let us see them fly! Then, "This, and this is mine," resounds the cry How much belongs to you, we'll soon discover.
FABLE XVII.
THE LINNET AND THE SWAN.
"Keep silence, noisy little one," Unto a Linnet said the Swan. "It almost tempts myself to sing; although No voice, our feathered tribes among, Compares with mine in melody, you know."
The Linnet still maintained her joyous trill. "What insolence is this!" continued he. "See how this tiny warbler taunteth me! Naught but my great consideration Prevents your well-deserved humiliation, By the display of my superior skill."
"Would you might sing!" replied the little bird; "With boundless curiosity we all-- All other voice by silent wonder shackled-- Should listen to that harmony divine, Which boasts far greater fame than mine; Though none of us, as yet, hath ever heard." Kashly the Swan essayed--but only cackled.
* * * * *
Not strange, that empty reputation, Without, or skill or genius, at foundation, Should, upon trial, cheat the expectation!
FABLE XVIII.
THE HACK MULE.
Full fed and antic, A Hack Mule pushed With speed so frantic Forth from her stable, That her rider Scarcely was able With rein to guide her. Half our journey Not long will bide her In such a race. But the false jade Now slacks her pace. What trouble now? Go on! Perhaps The spur will do. What, no? Then taps Of this light rod Or harder raps From pointed goad. Both are, I find, In vain bestowed. How! out of wind! With ready heels She kicks behind, And bites and squeals. What a curvette! She jumps and reels. You devil's pet, With hand and foot We'll try you yet. Upon her belly Down she flounders,-- Here sprawling flat. A murrain foul Seize on your soul! Amen to that!
* * * * *
The Mule, that work begins With such capers, Is not the mule for me; And, whene'er I see That any author vapors Too much of his intent,-- At once, I say, "Beware! Good friend, pray have a care Of this mule's predicament."
FABLE XIX.
THE GOAT AND THE HORSE.
A Goat, in mute delight, To the sweet echoes of a violin, Harmonious, long stood listening; His feet, the while, in sympathetic measure, Danced all unconsciously for pleasure. And, to an honest Nag, who, in like mood Absorbed, forgot his food, These words he spoke:
"Now, of these strings you hear the harmony, Know that they are the entrails of a Goat, Who pastured, in times past, with me. And, for myself, I trust some future time-- Blest thought!--such sonorous strains may rise from mine."
The good Hack turned himself, and answered thus: "Never are heard these sounds harmonious, Except, across the strings concordant, sweep The hairs that from my tail were drawn. My fright is over and the pain is gone; And, as reward, I now the pleasure reap Of seeing, for myself, the honors paid To the sweet instrument, through my own aid. For you, who hope like pleasure to derive,-- When shall you taste it? Not while you're alive.
* * * * *
Just so, in vain a wretched writer tries, Throughout his life, to gain celebrity; To better judgment of posterity He leaves his work, and, thus consoled, he dies.
FABLE XX.
THE BEE AND THE CUCKOO.
"Stop, Cuckoo," said the Bee; "With my labor interferes That unpleasant voice of thine, Always ringing in my ears.
There is no bird, in song, So monotonous as thou. It is cuckoo all day long, And nothing but cuckoo!"
"Wearies you, my monotone?" The Cuckoo straight rejoined; "So, too, one shape alone, In thy waxen cells, I find.
If, in the self-same way, You make a hundred as each one; If I nothing new can say, Nothing new by you is done."
This was the Bee's reply: "A work of usefulness May lack variety, And be valued none the less.
But in a work designed To gratify the taste, If we no invention find, Aught else is tedious waste."
FABLE XXI.
THE RAT AND THE CAT.
At telling of rabies old Esop was grand; With his subtile invention, his wisdom so great. And a story of his, as I have it at hand, Into our own language I now will translate.
"It is plain," said a Rat, at the mouth of his hole, "No distinction more lovely and noble is found Than fidelity. Therefore it is, on my soul, I love and respect the generous Hound."
A Cat answered, hard by: "This quality fine I assure you is also a merit of mine."-- "Ah! what's that?" said the Rat, as, in terrible fright He sprang to his hole, and, when safe out of sight, Just poking his nose out, he coolly did call: "You boast of it, hey? I don't like it at all."
* * * * *
The honor which many would freely allow, They retract, when it lights on an enemy's brow.
Now what say you, my reader? "The fable is one Which delights and instructs. It is perfectly done. Esop had, in these things, a way of his own." Ah! but look, my good sir; from this noddle of mine It all came. Your friend Esop wrote never a line-- Of the whole.--"Ah, indeed! Then the fable is thine?"
Yes it is, learned man; and I ween you'll not fail. Being mine, to attack it with tooth and with nail.
FABLE XXII.--XXIII.
THE OWL AND LAMP,
AND
THE DOGS AND THE RAGMAN.
There is a set of dastard knaves, Vile critics, that will wait to make attack On authors till their victims are--alack!-- All safe and quiet in their graves; For living men, they know, might answer back.
To this same purpose, once a little lay My old grandmother sang to me, Recounting how a wandering Owl, one day, Into a convent chanced to make her way;-- I'm wrong--by day it could not be.
For, without doubt, the evening's sun had set Below the horizon long ago. Now, as she flew along, our Owl she met A Lamp or Lanthorn in the passage set-- Which of the two I do not know.
Turning reluctant back, in angry spite, Thus spoke she out her mind: "Ah, Lamp! with what unspeakable delight I'd suck the oil all out of you this night, But that my eyes you blind!
But if I cannot now, Since you are such a blaze of dazzling light,-- If I should find you, on some other night, Unlighted, then, I shall be ready quite To make a feast, I vow."
* * * * *
Denounced though I may be, By coward critics, that I here expose-- Because I dare their meanness to disclose; Their portrait they shall see In yet another fable ere I close.
* * * * *
Beating an old dust pan, A Ragman stood, when, barking furiously As Cerberus, two Dogs, eying him curiously, With vagabondish man, As is their wont--howled savagely.
To them a tall Greyhound Said, "Let the wretch alone,--for he is one Who from dead dogs will strip the reeking skin To sell for bread. No honor can you win On him--for, I'll be bound, From living dogs the conscious rogue will run."
FABLE XXIV.
THE THRUSH, PARROT AND MAGPIE.
A Thrush, who heard a Parrot talking-- Of him, rather than of his instructor, man, Desired himself the mystery to learn. And, in one lesson, such line accent thought To have attained, that, in his turn, He the great art of speech began To the Magpie to teach; and turned his pupil out A scholar, as accomplished as, no doubt, Are those who will poor copies and translations scan For models--Blunder shocking!
FABLE XXV.
THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD.
The Wolf a Shepherd blandly once addressed: "Friend--let me say I really do not know Why you will view me always as a pest; You think me a bad fellow. Faith, I am not so. What a warm coat my skin in winter yields! It shelters many a man from cold and wetting; Moreover, too, from sting of flea it shields, And other insects vile your couch besetting. Against the withering blight of evil eye My claws will screen you--counter charm secure. My fat for hurts a sovereign remedy-- The uses of my teeth you know, I'm sure."
The Shepherd answered: "Animal perverse! Upon thy head be Heaven's eternal curse! On endless mischief bent--no thanks to you If, now and then, some good you chance to do."
* * * * *
To many books, in these our days, my verse Allots the Wolf's foul character and curse.
FABLE XXVI.
THE LION, EAGLE AND BAT.
The Eagle and Lion Held solemn debate; To settle between them Some matters of state
Loud complaints of the Bat Made the Eagle--"How long Shall this pitiful creature Dare do us such wrong?
With my vassals mixing, To her birdship she clings,-- As proof irrefragable, Showing her wings;
But says, when she chooses Our laws to defy, I'm no subject of yours; A plain quadruped I.
Would you call me a Bird? A sad blunder you've made! For I wear a broad snout, And no beak, on my head?
With my vassals, she slanders The Beasts of your reign; When among you she wanders, Of the Birds will complain."
"In my realm," said the Lion, "No more shall she come."-- "Nor in mine," said the Eagle-- "Let that be her doom."
Thenceforward, in darkness, She wanders alone; No Bird and no Beast Such companion will own.
Bats of authors, who seek To be two things at once, Take care lest ye prove In both--but a dunce!
FABLE XXVII.
THE MONKEY.
A Monkey, clothed in silk, Will a Monkey still remain; So says an ancient proverb, And so say I again; As to all, it clearly will appear, Who listen to our fable here.
In dress of gaudy hues, Such as harlequin would choose, A Monkey tricked herself. But I rather think the elf From her master got her finery; For else, I hardly see How Monkey could or cloth or tailor find find-- Yet so the story goes--but never mind. Seeing herself so gay, She through the window sprang Upon a roof that lay Below, then took her way Unto the far-off land of Tetuan. The proverb don't say this; But there a history is, Which I cannot call to mind,-- For the book is very rare,--- Which doth the truth unravel Whither she did travel; Which to discover must have cost a world of care But the author does not say, And neither can I guess. If by ship, or by the way Of the Isthmus of Suez: All that we know is, that she certainly went there. Here our fine lady found A jolly Monkey crew,-- For Monkeys there abound,-- But naked every one: As no other style they knew In the land of Tetuan. Now the naked Monkeys crowd An admiring glance to snatch; Homage to pay they press; And readily allowed, To the brainless little wretch, Wisdom and wit to match The splendors of her dress. And forthwith it was decided, By general accord, That to her should be confided, As ruler of the horde, A meditated foray Far and wide about the land, A stock of food to gather To feed the hungry band. So the leader new set forth With all her subject host, And, not alone her road, But her wits as well, she lost. Over mountain, moor and valley, Forest, and ridge, and plain, Deserts, rivers and morasses, She dragged her wearied train. When the day's work was over They could scarcely move a limb; And each exhausted rover Decided--if again, Through his life, in such excursion It should be his luck to join-- That he would choose a captain More skilled, if not so fine. From toil and from vexation, They learned a lesson bitter-- That fine clothing is not wisdom, Not all things gold that glitter.
* * * * *
Now, far this side of Tetuan, We many a Monkey see, Who, though he wear the student's Will still a blockhead be.
FABLE XXVIII.
THE ASS AND HIS MASTER.
"On good and bad an equal value sets The stupid mob. From me the worst it gets, And never fails to praise," With vile pretence, The scurrilous author thus his trash excused. A poet shrewd, hearing the lame defence, Indignant, thus exposed the argument abused.
A Donkey's master said unto his beast, While doling out to him his lock of straw, "Here, take it--since such diet suits your taste, And much good may it do your vulgar maw!" Often the slighting speech the man repeated. The Ass--his quiet mood by insult heated-- Replies: "Just what you choose to give, I take, Master unjust! but not because I choose it. Think you I nothing like but straw? Then make The experiment. Bring corn, and see if I refuse it."
* * * * *
Ye caterers for the public, hence take heed How your defaults by false excuse you cover! Fed upon straw--straw it may eat, indeed: Try it with generous fare--'t will scorn the other.
FABLE XXIX.
THE TURNSPIT AND THE MULE OF THE WELL.
In inn or convent kitchen, The reader oft, no doubt, Turning the spit about, A contrivance shrewd has seen.
A wheel of wood is it, With steps on outer rim, Where a Dog, ceaseless clambering, Turns it beneath his feet.
A Dog, who every day, In such wheel, performed his stint, Thus expressed his discontent: "Hard work and paltry pay!
Here I may climb and sweat; And, when my task is done, They throw me out a bone,-- While they eat all the meat.
Wearily, wearily on, Day passes after day. In the house I will not stay, Nor in the hated town."
The first chance of flight improving, He slily off did steal; Till he found, in a field, a wheel Of a well, which a Mule kept moving.
As his eyes he on it set, He cried,--"What have we here? By this it would appear Here, too, they're roasting meat."
"No meat I roast, but pump Water," replied the Mule.-- "Let me, now, try a pull; I'm light, but up I'll jump.
Ah! pretty heavy, is it? Something harder I must work. What then? I will not shirk; 'T isn't turning the old spit.
I shall better rations earn, And more respect compel."-- Here the laborer at the well Interrupted, in his turn.
"To the spit and kitchen fire I advise you to go back. A turnspit strength would lack For the task to which you aspire."
* * * * *
Now hear the Mule sagacious! Wisely, sure, he counsels thus; And one Horatius Flaccus This same matter does discuss.
How idly doth an author yearn To undertake, where he must fail! The little Dog cannot avail The huge well-wheel to turn.
FABLE XXX.
THE AUTHOR AND THE RAT.
In study of a scholar, sage and mellow, There dwelt a Rat,--a devil of a fellow,-- Who on naught else his hunger would assuage But prose and verse of many a learned page. In vain the Cat watched for him night and day; Her paws she ne'er could put upon a whisker. Of cunning traps no shrewd device, No arsenic hid in sweet confection, Nor any other bait or mixture, Ever prepared for rats or mice, For learned scrolls could cure his predilection; But with whole pages nightly he made way.
The rascal gnawed, moreover, nothing less, What our poor Author furnished to the presses,-- His works of eloquence and poesy. And, as the manuscripts the accursed beast Had eaten once before, made he Of printed page still more luxurious feast.
"Ah, what hard luck is mine!" the Author cried. "I've had enough of writing for these gnawers. Since all experiments in vain I've tried, Blank paper now I'll keep within my drawers,-- And nothing else. This mischief must be stayed." But, lo! too faithful to his wasteful trade, In pure white paper, without stop or stint, As heretofore with manuscript and print, The villanous vermin like destruction made.
At his wit's end, as last resort, Into his ink he pours, in copious dose, Corrosive sublimate, and writes Something; I know not whether verse or prose. 'Tis eaten by the animal perverse, And quickly ends his sport. "Happy receipt which mischief sure requites!" Sarcastic said the Poet, thus relieved. "Let him, who gnaws too freely, have a care Lest his malicious insult prove a snare; And the impatient wight he seeks to bait, Should write him in corrosive sublimate."
* * * * *
Be moderate, critic,--for unjust abuse Severe retaliation will excuse; Silence to keep, beneath invective froward, Argues an author either dunce or coward.
FABLE XXXI.
THE SQUIRREL AND THE HORSE.
A Steed,--a noble sorrel,-- Docile to spur and rein, Before a little Squirrel Went dashing round a plain.
Watching awhile his motions, So swift, yet regular, The Squirrel brisk bespeaks him As follows: "My dear sir, No great merit All this deftness, Grace and lightness-- Such I've often seen before. With equal spirit, Just such gambols I can do, and even more. I am sprightly, I am active; Always lightly Moving round, From ground to tree, And tree to ground, I am never quiet found."
Checking his pace a moment, The good colt his gallop stayed, And in grave tone, as follows, To the Squirrel answer made: "Comings and goings, Turns and twists, Idle freaks, Heed who lists. All this no useful purpose speaks. Not so futile My endeavor, In my duty Faithful ever. My master to serve, I strain every nerve To be always prompt and clever."
* * * * *
On puerile trifles of the day, Some time and talents throw away; And thus the Squirrel's part they play.
FABLE XXXII.
THE FOX AND THE LADY.
A famous gallant, of Parisian renown, A Fop of the most extravagant taste, Who silver and gold like water would waste, With a new suit each day to dazzle the town,-- On the festival day of his lady love placed On his shoes two paltry buckles of tin; In order to show, by this frivolous whim, That he courted not fame, but that fame courted him.
"What beautiful silver, so brilliant and gay!" Said the lady. "Huzza for the taste and the rule Of the master of fashion, the pride of our day!"
* * * * *
Thus a volume of nonsense, or, I am a fool, The world will devour, if subscribed with the name Of a popular author, established in fame.
FABLE XXXIII.
THE OSTRICH, THE DROMEDARY, AND THE FOX.
A party of beasts assembled for pleasure,-- For beasts, like mankind, thus diversify leisure,-- With a thousand discussions of this and of that, Were whiling the time in a sociable chat.
Of the different qualities, now they conversed, That each animal marked; some among them rehearsed The deserts of the Ant, of the Hound so sagacious; While some praised the Bee, some the Parrot loquacious.
"True, true," said the Ostrich; "but 'tis clear to me,--very, That no beast surpasses my friend Dromedary." "For my part," said Dromedary, "I must declare That I think we can none with the Ostrich compare."