Part 21
I Have often said, on seeing How men like animals seem to act, That the lord of the earth, a poor frail being, Is not much better, in fact, Than the beasts whom he rules; and that Nature Has given to each living creature A sense of morality's force, That its origin owes to the one same source.
At that witching hour when day In the brown of the eve melts away, Or at that when the long-brooding night Has just lifted its pinions for flight, I climb up some tree, at the edge of a wood, And there, like a Jove, so wise and so good, I startle with fear Some young Rabbits gambolling near.
Then the nation of Rabbits, Which, in tune with its habits, With eyes and ears both open wide, Played and browsed on the woodland side, Perfuming its banquets with odours of thyme, With a hurry and scurry, Tails turned in a hurry, Seeks its earth-sheltered burrows (thieves flying from crime.) But five minutes, or so, Have not vanished, when, lo! More gay than before, On the fragrant green floor, A rollicking band, The Rabbits are there, again, under my hand! Ah! do we not in this perceive A picture of the race of men Who, shipwrecked once, will still again The safety of the harbour leave, Risking fresh shipwreck from the selfsame wind? True Rabbits! They, to fortune blind, Entrust their wealth, and all their store! And of this truth take one example more.
When stranger dogs pass through some place Where they do not of wont reside, The native dogs at once give chase, With hungry jaws, all opening wide (Fearing that the intruders may Snatch the true owner's food away), And never weary till th' intruders Are safely driven from their borders. Just so with those whom gracious fates Have made the governors of states; And those whom many artful plans Have made much-favoured courtesans; And merchants; men of any kind; In all you'll find this jealous mind. Each one, in his several place, To the intruder grants no grace. Your fine coquettes and authors are Precisely of this character. Woe to the unknown writer who Dares publish something bright and new! Poets forgive you any crime, If you'll not rival them in rhyme. A thousand instances of this I might recite; but well I wish That works should never be too long. Moreover, you should always show You think your readers wise, you know; So now I'll close this song.
Ah! you, to whom I owe so much; Whose greatness, and whose modesty Are in exact equality; Who cannot bear that men should touch With praiseful tongues your well-earned fame, Who still will blush with needless shame: You, who scarcely have allowed That I should make my verses proud, And from critics and from time Protect my insufficient rhyme, By heading them with one of those Great names which make our nation's pride, Our France, whose annals long disclose More famous names than all the world beside; Oh, let me tell the universe That you gave me this subject for my verse.
FABLE CXCIX.
THE SWALLOW AND THE SPIDER.
"O Jupiter! who from thy regal brow Drew forth Minerva, my old enemy, List to the prayer of a poor Spider now; Listen, I pray to thee. Progne here and there, all day, and everywhere, Ever skimming, flitting, fifty times a day, Passes by me sitting in my trimly woven lair; Passes by me impudent, and bears away my prey: Yes, swallows up the flies that are crowding to my net, Which with skilful patience 'tween the laurel boughs I've set." Thus the Spider, who of yore so artistically wove, But now reduced in rank to the state of humble spinner, Regarding every fly as hers of right for dinner, Complained in noisy accents unto all-deciding Jove. But in spite of this harangue, Still Philomel's swift sister sprang Past the luckless Spider's door, Ever with her main and might, And with pitiless delight, Bearing to her brood incessantly the food, Which the clamorous little gluttons demanded more and more. But sad it is to tell! still worse was yet to come, For the Swallow, skimming, flitting, Spied the Spider sadly sitting, And snatched her hanging helpless from her once well-ordered home.
In this world here below, it is Jupiter's plan Two tables to spread for two different classes; At the one feasts the skilful, strong, vigilant man, At t'other starve feeble and ignorant masses.
FABLE CC.
THE PARTRIDGE AND THE FOWLS.
Once to a red-legged Partridge it befell Amongst a lot of fighting Cocks to dwell. Now, as the latter are a gallant race, Fighting with pleasure for a dame's embrace, The Partridge hoped that she would treated be, By these brave birds, with hospitality. But soon, alas! her hopes were cross'd, For oft, by angry passions toss'd, Her fiery hosts, with spur and beak, Would tear her plumage, brown and sleek. At first, this grieved the Partridge much; But when, as soon she did, she saw her foes Inflicting on each other equal woes, She ceased to blame them; "For," said she, "they're such As Jupiter has made them; and we know That he has planted many various creatures here below: The Partridge, mild; the Game-cock, rude and wild. If I could be as I would be, I'd pass my life in gentle company. But what avails these vain regrets? The master here takes Partridges in nets, And forces them to live with Fowls. We owe To man, and not to Nature, all our woe."
FABLE CCI.
THE LION.
Through spoil and plunder, wealthy grown, A Leopard once claimed as his own, In meadows broad, and forests deep, Full many a steer, and stag, and sheep. At length, upon some luckless morn, Not far away, a Lion born, Received, as usual is with great ones, The compliments well known as state ones. But this once done, King Leopard said To Mr. Fox, his vizier keen,
"I know you suffer from the spleen, Because this Lion-whelp is bred. But why be fearful, since his father Is in deaths keeping? Pity, rather, This orphan child, disconsolate, For he will have a lucky fate, If he, instead of seeking strife, Can but contrive to save his life." The Fox replied, "For orphans such My pity is not over much. In fact, two things alone remain,-- His friendship by some means to gain, Or else to kill him, ere he grows Too strong for all the world t' oppose. His horoscope I've duly cast, And find that he will ever be To us the bitterest enemy, But to allies he will cling fast. So, now, decide: become his friend, Or straightway of him make an end." But argued thus the Fox in vain: The Leopard slept, with all his train, Until the Lion's whelp, full grown, Spread havoc, and made all his own. Then Mr. Fox, with careworn brow, Appealed to, said, "'Tis useless, now, To think of meeting force by force: Suppose to friends you had recourse, They would but eat up all your store, And Master Lion does no more. But, sire, remember that the Lion Has got three friends he can rely on, Who ask for neither pay nor food,-- Strength, Vigilance, and Fortitude. So, send him now a sheep or two; If that won't answer, lambs a few; And if he's not content with that, A heifer add, both large and fat; For by this means, perchance, you may Save something from this beast of prey." Thus spoke the Fox; but to his master Th' advice seemed ill; and thence disaster Spread over all the country round; For still, combine as might the states, Republics, cities, potentates, They still the Lion master found. If you would now the moral know, Just to this brief advice attend:-- If you have let a Lion grow, Take care that he becomes your friend.
FABLE CCII.
THE DOG WHOSE EARS WERE CUT.
"What have I done, I should like to know, That my master should make me a public show? Amongst other dogs I can never now go! Oh, kings of animals, human race! Tyrants, authors of my disgrace! I wish some demon would treat you the same!" Thus a young Dog reflected, mad with pain, As they cropped his long ears, but his cries were in vain, And he thought himself lost; but he found, one fine day. That his loss was a gain, for, by nature endowed With a combative spirit, in many a fray He saw that to cropping his long ears he owed Avoidance of many a subject for tears,-- Rough dogs, when they fight, bite their enemies' ears: For hostile mastiffs his were best of all. 'Tis easy to defend one opening in a wall; Armed with a collar, and with ears but small, Our young Dog meets his foes, fights, and defeats them all.
FABLE CCIII.
THE TWO PARROTS, THE MONARCH, AND HIS SON.
A Parrot and his child, 'tis said, On royal dishes daily fed, Having the affections won Of a monarch and his son. An equal age made either pair Affection for each other bear. The fathers gravely loved each other; And their chicks, though wild and young, At school or play, together clung, As fondest brother unto brother. That a parroquet thus by the son of a king Should be loved, need we say, was a wonderful thing. Now the fates had endowed this young heir to the throne With a love for all creatures that he called his own; And a Sparrow, by arts which caused prudes to despise her, Had contrived how to make this great Monarch's son prize her. And so it chanced, alack! one day. That the rivals twain, at play, Fell into a desperate rage; And the youthful Parrot, stung By some taunt the Sparrow flung, Attacked, and sent her dying to her cage. And then the Prince, with equal fury seized, The slayer snatched, and in a death-grip squeezed. Soon to the Parrot-father's ears The tidings came, and then the air Was tortured by his wild despair; But nought availed, or moans or tears, For his child was lying still-- Inanimate, with voiceless bill. Then from his woe the bird awoke, And, with a cruel, double stroke, Tore out the wretched Prince's eyes. This done, unto a pine he flies, And on its topmost branch he knows What joy from satiate vengeance flows. Runs, then, the King to him, and cries, "Come down, my friend, our tears are vain; In love let's bury woe and hate. This wretchedness, 'tis very plain, Comes from my son; or, rather, Fate Had long since writ her stern decree, Your son should die, and mine not see, And that we parents twain should live disconsolate." On this the father bird replied-- "Too great a wrong us twain divide; Nor can I think he'll smother hate, Who heathenishly speaks of Fate. But whether it be Providence Or Fate that rules our lives, I'm sure That I will never move from hence Till tempted by some wood secure. I know that in a kingly breast Vengeance for a time may rest; But kings are also like the gods, And, soon or late, you feel their rods. I can scarcely trust you far, Though sincere you think you are; But you are losing time below, For with my will I'll never go. And trust me, hate, like love, is best By absence lullabied to rest."
FABLE CCIV.
THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.
To judge by appearances only is wrong, The maxim is true, if not very new, And by means of a mouse I have taught it in song; But to prove it at present I'll change my note, And with Æsop and Socrates, also, I'll quote A boor whom Marcus Aurelius drew, And left us a portrait both faithful and true. The first are old friends; but the other, unknown, Is sufficiently well in this miniature shown. His chin was clothed with a mighty beard, And all his body so thickly furred, That much he resembled a grizzly bear-- One that had never known mother's care;
'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 you may send the wage of crime, And justice, in our 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 you to repent of your evil ways: To care for the future is our 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.