Part 20
"Friend Robber," said the Husband, "but for thee I had not known this boundless happiness. Take all I have,--I give thee liberty; Take house and all, to prove my gratitude." Thieves with much modesty are not endued; The Robber took sufficient, I confess.
From this I argue that fear is so strong, It conquers hatred, and love, too, sometimes. Yet love has triumphed over passion's throng: Witness the lover, who his house burnt down, So he might win Hope's brightest laurel crown, By rescuing her, the lady he'd loved long, And so secure her heart. I like the story: It strikes my fancy very pleasantly; It is so Spanish in its tone. I glory In love, so chivalrous and mettlesome, And hold it grand (so will all times to come). 'Twas not by any means insanity.
FABLE CLXXXVIII.
THE SHEPHERD AND THE KING.
Our lives are spoiled by demons twain; Turn in, turn out; by each, in season; By each with reckless force is slain That which we mortals call our reason . And if you ask their name and state, I'll name god Love, the potentate, For one; and for the other, I'll name Ambition, Love's half-brother, Who, not seldom, Love defeats, And reigns within his choicest seats, All this I soon could prove; but now That which I wish to tell is how A Shepherd by a King was sent for, And what this royal deed was meant for. The tale belongs to distant ages, And not to those which fill these pages. A numerous flock that filled the plain, And brought the owner heaps of gain, Through Shepherd's care and industry, Once met a sapient's Monarch's eye. Pleased with such skill and thrift, he said, "Good Shepherd, to rule men thou'rt bred; Leave now thy sheep. Come, follow me; Accept my widest satrapy. And so our Shepherd, who before Had scarce had friend but hermit poor, And very seldom had in view Aught but his sheep and wolf or two, Was with a viceroy's sceptre graced; Nor was he by this change misplaced, For Nature had endowed his mind With funds of great good sense; And how to govern human kind He amply learned from thence.
Ere many days had passed away, His former friend, the hermit, Came running quickly, crying---"Say, 'Tis dream-work, or as truth affirm it, That you are now beloved of kings, And deal yourself in regal things. Oh, kings mistrust; their favour goes Life snow on water; thousand woes Fall ever on the luckless wight Who basks a time in kingly might. You know not to what precipice You haste. Come back; take my advice." The other smiled; on which the man Of sacred life, continuing, said-- "Alas! already I can scan How far astray your wits have fled; Your foolish conduct calls to mind The story of the traveller blind, Who sees a snake benumbed with cold; The creature frosts so numb and nip, He lies like some old leathern whip; His own just lost, the man takes hold, And waves the reptile in his joy, When one who passes by that way Cries--'Heavens! throw that snake away, Or quickly 'twill your life destroy.' 'No snake; but a good whip,' replied the other. 'No whip; but snake,' replied the stranger; 'And, pray, should I thus make a pother Unless I saw your woful danger? And will you really keep that thing, With fangs so sharp, and deadly sting?' 'Of course, I shall; my whip was lost, And this will save another's cost. You speak from envy--sir, good-bye.' The snake, now brandished wide and high, Grew warm and warmer gradually, And, stinging, caused the fool to die. But, as for you, my satrap friend, You hasten to a bitterer end." "What! worse than death?" the satrap cried. "Ah! worse than death," the sage replied. And, in due time, the hermit's word Was proved with truth in due accord; For all the pests that haunt a Court, By hint and wink, and false report, Soon made the satrap's virtuous skill Seem to his royal master ill. Cabals arose on every side; Defeated suitors loudly cried, "With what belonged to us he built that palace wide." The Monarch fain would see this wealth, And thither stole one day by stealth, But nought within it met his eyes Save modest mediocrities, And praises of the joys that lie In loneliness and poverty. "His wealth, then," cried the pests, "consists In diamonds, pearls, and amethysts; In yonder chest with locks his hoard, The ransom of a king, is stored!" The Monarch, with his own white hands, Undoes the locks and clumsy bands, Throws back the wooden lid--and mute Each base calumnious courtier stands; For in that oaken chest is nought But cap and jacket, roughly wrought, A simple cloak, a shepherd's flute. "Ah! much-loved treasures;" then exclaims The Shepherd; "you are dear, indeed, For never did you rouse the greed Or malice of my fellow-men, And you your master now reclaims; Let's leave this palace, ne'er again To enter, save in airy vision. Monarch! pardon this decision; When I mounted Fortune's height, A fate untimely met my sight; But who, alas! is quite so wise, As not sometimes to wish to rise?"
FABLE CLXXXIX.
THE TWO MEN AND THE TREASURE.
A Man of cash and credit shorn (The Devil only in his purse), Resolved to hang himself one morn, Since death by hunger might be worse:
A king of death which pleases not Those curious in their final taste. A rope and nail he quickly got, And fixed them to a wall in haste.
The wall was weak and very old, With the man's weight it crumbling fell; When out there came a stream of gold, The Treasure that he loved so well.
He did not stay to count, but ran; Pale Penury no more he feared. When in the miser came--poor man! To find his wealth had disappeared.
"Gold gone! This cord's my only wealth!" He cried; "now I have lost all hope:" And so straightway he hanged himself. How changed the fortunes of that rope!
The miser saves his wealth for those Who may be prudent, may be thieves; Into the grave perhaps it goes: Who knows the changes Fortune weaves?
For Lady Fortune mocks outright At human nature's dying pangs; And if by you or me made tight The rope, she laughs that some one hangs!
FABLE CXC.
THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK.
"Alas! I see another one Of my poor foolish flock is gone! The wolf, relentless, day by day, Makes still another sheep his prey. In vain I count them, oft and oft-- Ten times a hundred; they're so soft, That they have let my Bob be torn By wolfish jaws. Ah! me, forlorn! My darling Bob would follow me, In town or in the country, up and down, O'er all the world, with tread for tread, If I but showed a bit of bread. A furlong off my step he knew, And to my piping time kept true. Alas! poor Bobby!" When, at last, This funeral discourse had past, And Robin's fame was duly sounded, The Shepherd, by his flock surrounded, Addressed them all, ram, lamb, and sheep, And said, that if they'd only keep United, never wolf would dare Their woolly-coated throats to tear. The flock declared, with solemn bleat, They all their master's views would meet, Form ever one united band, And chase Sir Wolf from out the land. Delighted at their brave reply, Guillot regaled them sumptuously. But, sad to say, before the night, There happened a disaster new. A horrid wolf appeared in sight, And off the timid creatures flew. In truth 'twas a mere shadow, but The ant's a wolf in Lilliput.
Bad soldiers you in vain address; Heroic aims they all profess; But let the slightest danger show, In spite of generals, off they go.
FABLE CXCI.
THE KITE AND THE NIGHTINGALE.
A Daring thief, a Kite by name, Spread dire alarm o'er hill and dale. E'en little children cried, "For shame!" When he pounced on a Nightingale.
The bird of Spring for life prayed well-- "I'm fit for songs, and not for eating; Oh, hear my notes, and I will tell My tale of Tyreus, still repeating."
"Tyreus! is that good food?" then said The Kite. "No, no;" was the reply; "He was a mighty king, who made His love to me, with vow and sigh.
"His cruel love was strong: too strong! 'Twas mad--'twas criminal: now, sire, Let me transport you with my song; A song so sweet you must admire."
Not having eaten all the day, The Kite had other views of things. Thus--"What's the use of music, pray? I, too, can talk of mighty kings.
"When you take kings--or kings take you-- Sing to them and their pretty dears; I'm hungry, and know what to do-- An empty stomach has no ears."
FABLE CXCII.
THE FISH AND THE SHEPHERD WHO PLAYED ON THE CLARIONET.
Tircis, for his loved Annette Playing on the Clarionet, Poured forth strains of music, such As the very dead might touch:-- Played and sang beside a stream Which through the meadows flowed like some delicious dream. Meanwhile, Annette, demure and pretty, With rod and line, on fishes bent, Stood, listening unto Tircis' ditty, Which failed to lure them from their element. Still Tircis sang, "Come, come, ye fishes, come: Come from the cool depths of your watery home; Forsake your naiad, and see one more fair: Surrender all your lives to Annette's care! She is gentle, she is kind; In her keeping you will find Your lives more safe than down below. Safe in a crystal pool, no want you'll know. And should you in her keeping die, Your fate I'd suffer willingly." Now this song was well sung, and the instrument's strains Were deliciously sweet, but, in spite of his pains, The fishes avoided the charmer's keen hook. Then Tircis lost patience, and hastily took A net called a trammel, and, sweeping the stream, Placed at Annette's disposal trout, greyling, and bream.
Oh, shepherds of men, and not of sheep; Kings, who think you can safely keep Your subjects in order by rule of right, Attend to my counsel, and spread out your nets, Before the time comes for forlorn regrets, And let them cringe, under the rule of might.
FABLE CXCIII.
THE MAN AND THE SNAKE.
A Man once saw a Snake, and said, "Thou wretched thing, I'll strike thee dead-- 'Tis for the general good!" And straight the wicked thing (By wicked be it understood, I mean not Man, but wretch with sting; For some my meaning might mistake), Well, this base and atrocious Snake Was placed in sack, And doomed, alack! To death without the aid of jury! But yet the Man, despite his fury, To show that he with justice acted, His reasons in these words compacted:-- "Oh, symbol of all that is base, 'Twere a crime to spare one of thy race; For mercy to those that are bad Can from foolish ones only be had; And no more shall thy sting or thy teeth, Oh, thou villanous Snake, find their sheath!" The Serpent, thus addressed, His counter views expressed, And briefly made reply:-- "O Man! if all must die Who graceless are, there's none Who would not be undone. Yourself shall be the judge; I'll take From you excuse for me, the Snake. My life is in your hands, I know, But ponder ere you strike the blow, And see now what you justice call Is based on vices great and small. Your pleasure and convenience You'll satisfy at my expense; But, pray, think not that I am rude, If, dying, I this statement make-- That Man, and not the Snake, The symbol is of all ingratitude." These words the angry Man surprise, He starts aside, and then replies-- "Your words are nonsense, and to me Belongs of right your fate's decree; But, nathless, let us have resort Unto some independent court." The Snake assented; and a Cow That stood hard by, appealed to, said-- "The case is plain; I can't see how The thing should puzzle any head: The Snake is right, I'll frankly say; For yonder Man, for many a day, With milk and curd I've amply fed, And long ere this his child were dead, If my rich food his pining son Had rescued not from Acheron. And now that I am old and dry, He leaves me, wanting grass, to die; Sure, had a Serpent been my master, It could have been no worse disaster." Thus saying, with an awkward bow, Walked off, or rather limped, the Cow. The Man, aghast at this decree, Exclaimed, "O Snake! it cannot be; The Cow is doting. Let us place Before this Ox our mutual case." The Snake assents, and heavily The Ox walks up, and by-and-by, Still ruminating, makes reply To this effect--"That, after years Of painful toil and weariness, That Ceres' wealth Man might possess (And here the Ox burst into tears), His sole reward had been the goad, When panting with some weighty load; And, what was worse, his owner thought He--Ox--was honoured, being bought By cruel butcher, to be flayed, And as a prize beast then displayed!" The Man declared the Ox a liar, And said, "Yon Oak-tree shall be trier." The tree, appealed to, made a case Redounding unto Man's disgrace; Told how he sheltered Man from rain, Told how he garnished hill and plain, Told how he gave Man flowers and fruits, And how that, when Man's will it suits, He cuts him down and burns his roots!
The Man, convinced against his will, Resolved to have his vengeance still; So took the Serpent, bag and all, And banged it up against the wall, Until the wretched Serpent died, And human wrath was satisfied.
It is ever thus with the rich and great, Truth and reason they always hate; They think that all things here below Solely for their convenience grow; And if any this simple truth denies, They call him a sulky growler of lies; And this being so, when you wish to teach The truth to such people, keep out of their reach.
FABLE CXCIV.
THE TORTOISE AND THE TWO DUCKS.
A Tortoise once, with an empty head, Grown sick of her safe but monotonous home, Resolved on some distant shore to tread;-- It is ever the cripple that loves to roam. Two Ducks, to whom our friend repaired To gossip o'er her bold intent, Their full approval straight declared; And, pointing to the firmament, Said, "By that road--'tis broad and ample-- We'll seek Columbia's mighty range, See peoples, laws, and manners strange; Ulysses shall be our example." (Ulysses would have been astounded At being with this scheme confounded.) The Tortoise liking much this plan, Straightway the friendly Ducks began To see how one for flight unfitted Might through the realms of air be flitted. At length within her jaws they fitted A trusty stick, and seizing each an end, With many a warning cry--"Hold fast! hold fast!" Bore up to heaven their adventurous friend. The people wondered as the cortège passed, And truly it was droll to see A Tortoise and her house in the Ducks' company. "A miracle!" the wondering mob surprises: "Behold, on clouds the great Queen Tortoise rises!" "A queen!" the Tortoise answered; "yes, forsooth; Make no mistake--I am--in honest truth." Alas! why did she speak? She was a chattering dunce: For as her jaws unclose, the stick slips out at once, And down amidst the gaping crowds she sank, A wretched victim to her claims to rank. Self-pride, a love of idle speaking, And wish to be for ever seeking A power that Nature ne'er intended, Are follies close allied, and from one stock descended.
FABLE CXCV.
THE TWO ADVENTURERS AND THE TALISMAN.
I have never heard or read In annals true or fabled story, That paths of pleasure ever led Mortal heroes unto glory; And in proof of this one sees The labours twelve of Hercules. However, once, by Talisman Induced, a knight conceived the plan Of mounting horse and couching lance, And seeking lands of fair romance, Accompanied by one he knew. After a time there came in view A post upon the public way, On which was writ--"A moment stay, Adventurous knight. If you would see That which no knight has seen before, Venture across yon torrent's roar, And from the root of yonder tree Yon elephant's huge head of stone Raise up, and, without resting, bear To yonder mountain's crest, which proudly stands alone." Now of these knights one was of those Who shudder at your swashing blows. "The torrent's deep and broad," he cried; "And if we reach the other side? Why climb unto a mountain's crest, With a stone elephant opprest? 'Tis true the artist may have wrought His work on such a scale, a man Might bear it for a yard, then rest; But tell me not that mortal can Bear it to yonder mountain's top, Not daring once for breath to stay. Perhaps this mystic head is naught But such as one might bear away; And if the latter be the truth, Success were honour small, in sooth. The whole thing is so plain a trick, I'll leave it. Come, my friend, be quick." This wise man having passed along, The other crossed his breast, and made A dash across the torrent strong, And found beneath the tree the beast's head laid. He raised it, and, with breathless stride, He bore it to the mountain's brow, And there, upon a terrace wide, Gazed on a city fair that stretched below. "Umph!" cried the elephant, and then Forth swarmed a host of armed men. All other errant knights but this Would now have shown some cowardice; But he, so far from turning back, Couched lance in rest, and spurred to the attack. But what the hero's great surprise, When all the crowd, with joyful cries, Proclaimed him monarch, in the place Of one just dead! With modest grace The knight declared he was not fit A crown to wear, and then took it. Sixtus the Pope once said so, too; (And is it, then, so bad a thing To be a pope, or be a king?) But Sixtus said what was not true.
Blind fortune to blind courage is a friend; And often he will gain his end Who rashly acts; whilst he who tarries, By prudence quite deceived, miscarries.
FABLE CXCVI.
THE MISER AND HIS FRIEND.
A Miser once who'd got much money, Was puzzled how to hide that honey; For ignorance and love of gain Being ever sisters twain, Had left him at a total loss Where to secrete his golden dross; And why the Miser was so hot to find A place of safety for his hoarded pelf, Was simply the great fear that filled his mind, That some day he should spend and rob himself: Yes, rob himself by gathering pleasure From the usage of his treasure. Poor Miser! how I pity your mistake! Wealth is not wealth unless we use it, And when we do not we abuse it. Why keep money till the sense Of pleasure dies in impotence? To gather gold alone is wretched slaving; To have to watch it makes it not worth having. However this may be, our Miser might Have found some trusty banker for his gold; But it seemed better, to his purblind sight, To give it to the depths of earth to hold. So with a comrade's aid It soon beneath the turf was laid; But when a little time was past, Our Miser going to re-visit His buried treasure, found a huge deficit. At first despair oppressed him; but at last He hurried to his comrade, and he said-- "To-morrow I shall want your help again; Some bags of gold still in my house remain, And they had better with the rest be laid." The comrade immediately hurried away, And returned all the gold he had taken, Intending to grasp the whole lot the next day; But in this he was somewhat mistaken; For the Miser grown wise by the loss of his store, Resolved 'neath the earth to conceal it no more, But to use and enjoy it; and thus the poor thief, By being too clever, came headlong to grief.
In my belief there is no ill in Playing the rascal to a villain.
FABLE CXCVII.
THE WOLF AND THE PEASANTS.
A Conscientious Wolf one day (If conscientious Wolves there be), Lamenting he was beast of prey, Though such but by necessity, Exclaimed--"I'm dreaded far and near, To all a thing of hate and fear; Dogs, hunters, and peasants combine to pursue me, And weary out Jove with their prayers to undo me: In England long since a price paid for my head, Has caused the whole race to be utterly dead. I'm an object of wrath to each ignorant squire, Who orders his people to hunt me and kill; And if a child cries, all that mothers require Is to mention my name to make it be still. And why this universal spite, In all the country round, Which never leaves the Wolf at rest? Because, perchance, by hunger prest, To satisfy my appetite, I've eaten scurvy sheep, or ass, or mangy hound. Ah! well, henceforth I'll eat no living thing, But feed on herbs, and water from the spring; Or starve and die--a cruel, cruel fate-- Sooner than be a thing of universal hate." Saying these words, a pleasant savour drew Our wolf's attention to some shepherds near, Feasting on what his wolfish instinct knew Had once been lambkin, to some mother dear. "Ah, ah!" he exclaimed, "this is strange, by my troth; I'm reproaching myself for each lamb that I've slain, Whilst the shepherds and sheep-dogs themselves are not loth To regale on roast lamb is abundantly plain; And shall I, then, a Wolf, feed on nothing but grass? No, not if I know it! The day shall not pass Till a lambkin has gone down my cavernous jaws, Without waiting for any of cookery's laws. A lamb, did I say? I should just think so, rather; Aye, the mother that bore him, and also his father." Well, the Wolf was right; for as long as we feed On animals' flesh, it is surely unjust That we should endeavour to make them recede To the primitive food of a root or a crust. And beasts of prey, we should always remember, Know not the use of spit or ember. Shepherds, shepherds! trust to me; The Wolf a hermit ne'er can be. And sure the Wolf is only wrong When he is weak and you are strong.
FABLE CXCVIII.
THE RABBITS.
TO THE DUKE DE ROCHEFOUCAULD.