Part 24

As the gods are forgiving, they wish that the lords Whom they send to rule over us creatures below, Should control the proud use of their conquering swords, And to subjects the mercies of charity show. O Prince! 'tis well known that you think in this way That you conquer your foes, but still pause ere you slay; And in this, for you're one who no passions subdue, Achilles, as hero, was far beneath you. This title of hero, in fact, should belong But to those who do good. This was always the case In the ages of gold; but now absence from wrong Of a very grave character gives men the place. So far are you, Prince, from deserving this stain, That for half your good actions you merit a fane. Apollo, the poet, who dwells in the skies, Sings already the praise of your name, 'tis believed; Fast in heaven the walls of your mansion arise, For of glory enough on the earth you've received. May the sweetest of charms that god Hymen can give, For you and the Princess, eternally live: For you fully deserve it; in token of this I will point to your gifts, both of riches and bliss. To those qualities wondrous, which, owned but by few, To grace your young years, Jove has lavished on you. Your spirit, O Prince! with such grace is combined, That which most to prize a sweet puzzle we find; For, sometimes, esteem takes our homage by force, And then love leaps in with impetuous course. But to sing all your praises and merits were long; So changing my key, in a far humbler song I'll tell you a tale, how a fierce bird of prey Assaulted a king, and got safely away. 'Tis seldom falconers contrive To take a new-fledged Hawk alive; But one so taken, to a King Was made a humble offering. The bird, if true the story be, No sooner saw his Majesty, Than straight the Royal nose he clawed, And then the Royal forehead gnawed. "What! clutch a mighty monarch's nose? He wore no crown, then, I suppose?" Had he wore crown and sceptre, too, 'Twere all the same, the creature flew, And King's nose clawed, like common nose. Of course, an uproar loud arose, Such as my verse could scarce describe, From all the startled courtier tribe. The King alone was calm and cool: For calmness is with kings a rule. The bird kept his place, and could not be persuaded To vacate the strange throne he'd so roughly invaded. His master, in vain, with threats and with cries, Showed him his fist, but he would not rise. And it seemed, at length, as though the bird-- Insolent creature!--would cling to that feature Until the next morning's chimes were heard. The greater the efforts to make him let go, The deeper he dug in each keen-pointed toe. At length he relaxed, of his own fickle will; Then the King said to those round about, "Do not kill The poor bird, nor the falconer trouble, for each, in His several way, has obeyed Nature's teaching:-- The one has just proved himself falconer good, And the other a real savage thing of the wood. And I, knowing well that kings clement should be, Grant both full pardon: so let them go free." Of course, the courtiers all declared That such great mercy ne'er was shown; And had the trouble been their own, Nor man nor bird would have been spared. Few kings indeed had acted so, And let the woodman freely go. They 'scaped right well; but boor and bird In nothing in this matter erred, But only this, that, woodland-bred, They had not learnt enough to dread The neighbourhood of courts; but this small lapse May be excused in such poor folk, perhaps. The following story Pilpay places Where Ganges nourishes dusk races; Where man ne'er dares to spill the blood Of any living thing for food; "For how can we tell," they say, "that This creature was not present at The siege of Troy--a hero, then-- And that he'll not be so again? For we Pythagoreans are, And think that different forms we bear At different seasons--pigeon now, And then a hawk, and next a cow. At present we are men; and so Through every change of form we go."

The tale of that bold bird who clutched the King Is told two ways. The second now I'll sing. A woodman that, by luck or wit, A Hawk had seized, went off with it, To lay it at his monarch's feet. Such captures we but seldom meet-- Once in a hundred years; indeed, 'Tis written in the falconer's creed That woodman who a Hawk can catch In nest, is any woodman's match. Through all the crowd of courtiers, then, Our huntsman, happiest of men, Thrust with his prize, at last secure His fortune now was firm and sure. But, just as he had reached the throne, Seized with a rage before unknown, The savage bird, untamed as yet, In spite of chained foot, turned and set His claws deep in his master's nose. All laughed, as you may well suppose-- The courtiers and the monarch, too; Such very comic sight to view, I'd give a crown, though it were new. If Popes may laugh, I'm not quite sure But kings could not their lives endure, If they might laugh not--'tis divine; And Jove, though mostly saturnine, With all his comrades, laughs, at times, Enough to shake these earthly climes. And Jove laughed loudest when, I think, Poor hobbling Vulcan gave him drink. Whether or no, 'tis well arranged That gods should laugh, my subject's changed, With reason; for 'tis time to ask What moral lies beneath the mask Of falconer unfortunate? This simple lesson I will state:-- To every land each cycle brings More foolish woodmen than good kings.

FABLE CCXXIX.

THE FOX AND THE TURKEYS.

Against a Fox, a tree served well The Turkeys for a citadel. The cunning rascal made the round, And sentries at each opening found. "What! these fools mock me, then?" he cried, "And at the common lot deride? Forbid it, gods! forbid it, pride!" And this vow of his chivalry He soon performed, as you will see. The moon came just then shining out, As if the Turkeys' foes to rout; But he, no novice in assault Like this, was not, of course, at fault; And from his bag of schemes so sly Drew one, to trap the weak and shy. He feigns to climb, with rampant paws, And next apes death, with close-fixed jaws. He then revives, resuscitated: No harlequin so much elated: Raises his tail, and makes it shine, And in the moonlight glitter fine. No single Turkey dares to sleep, But ceaseless, tiring watch they keep. Worn out, they try their eyes to fix Upon their foeman's wicked tricks; At last, half giddy, one by one Fall headlong, and his game is done. He puts them carefully aside, Till nearly half of them have died; Then the bold rascal quickly bore Away the heap, to fill his store.

If dangers we too closely heed, 'Tis ten to one they come indeed.

FABLE CCXXX.

THE CROW, THE GAZELLE, THE TORTOISE, AND THE RAT.

TO MADAME DE LA SABLIÈRE.

I By means of verse, would raise A temple to your lasting praise. Already its foundations lie Based on that art which comes from high, And on the name of her whose fame Adoring clouds shall there proclaim. I'd write above its portal-stones, "This fane the goddess Iris owns;" But not the Iris who for Juno Goes out with messages, as you know; A different Iris, whom the lord Of gods, and Juno, too, were glad To serve, if they her summons had, When she such honour would accord. Th' Apotheosis placed on high Should show the people of the sky My Iris to a throne conducting,-- A throne of sunlight's sole constructing. In frescoes, on the panels placed, Should all her life's sweet tale be traced; A charming story, and one far Remote from all the tales of war. Deep in the Temple's chief recess A painting should in part express Her form, her features, her bright smiles, And all the thousand artless wiles By which she gods and men beguiles. Low at her feet should there be shown All the great men the world may own, Great demi-gods besides, and even The natural habitants of heaven; For certain 'tis that they to whom Men pray, to Iris burn perfume. The artist's care should chiefly be To make her eyes her soul express. But, ah! to paint her tenderness 'Twere all in vain to try; may be No art upon the earth resides Which for a task like this provides, To paint a soul in which combine Man's strength with graces feminine. O Iris! you who charm us all, Before whose heavenly grace we fall, You whom before ourselves we prize (But, mind, I am not making love, For love's a word you don't approve), Yet even from this rough sketch may A better likeness rise, some day. The project of your sacred building I've just for artist-purpose filled in The foreground of a story which Is so with rare-found friendship rich, That, haply, it may favour find With one that is so good and kind. Of friendship monarchs seldom dream But he who gains your heart's esteem Is not a king devoid of love; No, he your gentle thoughts approve Is a brave mortal, who would give His life, that some dear friend might live.

A Rat, a Gazelle, and a Tortoise and Crow Lived together as friends, in a desolate place; And, as they took care to indulge in no show, Man failed for some time the companions to trace. But, alas! for poor beasts there's no safety from man, Whatever concealment their instincts may plan; To the heart of the desert, the depths of the sea, Or to heaven's own vault, 'tis in vain that they flee. The Gazelle, one sad day, was at innocent play, When a dog--cruel dogs! whom the men treat as brothers, Though beasts, to assist them to capture the others-- Unluckily snuffed at her scent, and, pursuing, Led on his fierce master, to cause her undoing. When dinner came that day, the Rat Said, "What can Miss Gazelle be at? She surely dreads some new attacks, Or else our friendship's bonds relax!" "Ah!" then the Tortoise, sighing, cried, "If Heaven wings would but provide, Such as our Crow has, I would fly, And all around the country spy, To find what accidents withhold Our friend. Her heart's as good as gold." The Crow, without a word, took flight, And soon had poor Gazelle in sight, Tied up with cords against a tree, A hapless piece of misery. At once the Crow, without a pause, Flies back, nor seeks to probe the cause, The whys, the wherefores, or the when Which make Gazelles the prey of men. Nor loses time, for action meant, In a pedantic argument. The Crow's report was duly heard, And then the Crow a vote preferred That two should speed, without delay, To where their friend in bondage lay, But that the Tortoise, lying still, Should serve the counter,--guard the till; For, whilst the Tortoise' step is slow, Gazelles die quickly, as we know. The words were scarcely said, when forth The angry Crow and Rat went north, To where their dark-eyed, dear Gazelle Lay, victim of man's purpose fell. The Tortoise, also, not behind-hand To lend to any one a kind hand, Toiled thither, also, grimly swearing That he his house must still be bearing. Arrived at the place where the Deer was confined, Sir Gnaw-net (the Rat is so properly named) At once set his teeth the hard cordage to grind, And in less than two minutes the friend was reclaimed The hunter coming up just then, Cursed like a thousand sporting men; And Master Rat, with prudence fraught, A cozy hole directly sought, Whilst Crow swam safely up to tree, And dear Gazelle in woods ran free. Just then the hunter, in a state Of hunger most disconsolate, Perceived the Tortoise on his path, And, thereupon, subdued his wrath. "Why should I," said he, "vex myself? This beast will grace my supper-shelf." And thus the hapless Tortoise soon Had been condemned to knife and spoon, Had not the Crow the dear Gazelle Taught how to act the lame man well. The timid deer, with halting feet, Went forth, the hunter's eyes to meet. The man threw off, without delay, All that his eager steps might stay-- The Tortoise, with some other things. Of course the Rat undid the strings That held the bag where Tortoise lay, And all four friends got safe away!

'Tis Pilpay that has told this tale; And if upon the god of song I chose to call, I might prolong This quadrupedal history, And write another Odyssey. And if, to please you, I should take This work upon me, I should make The Rat the hero; yet, 'tis true That each had work, and did it, too. The Tortoise, though with mansion weighted, The case in point so clearly stated, That Master Crow at once took wing, To spy the land, and message bring; Whilst dear Gazelle, with female cunning, Before the hunter lamely running, Gave to Sir Gnaw-cord time to bite The strings which held the Tortoise tight. So each one, in his several way, Fought a good fight, and won the day. On whom shall we the prize bestow? On the good heart, as you'll allow. What will not friendship dare for those On whom its gentle tendrils close? That other feeling, love, is not, Compared with friendship, worth a jot; Although, to tell the truth, its pains Distract my heart, and fill my strains. It is Love's gentle sister you Protect, and I'll adore her, too; And, blending Friendship with your name, Throughout the world her joys proclaim.

FABLE CCXXXI.

THE ENGLISH FOX.

TO MADAME HARVEY.

A good heart is in you with sense allied, And scores of other qualities, well tried; A nobleness of soul and mind, to guide Both men and things; a temper frank and free. In friendship firm, though tempests there may be. All this deserves, we know, a pompous praise: But pomp displeases you; so I'll not raise My voice, but simple be, and brief. I would Insert a word of flattery, if I could, About the country that you love so dear. The English are profound: in this their mind Follows their temperament, as oft we find. Deep, deep they dig for truth, and without end The empire of the sciences extend. I write not this to win good will from you; Your nation are deep searchers, it is true. Even your dogs, they say, have keener scent than ours; Your foxes are of craftier mental powers: I'll prove it, by an artful stratagem, The most ingenious ever planned by them. A wicked Reynard, chased quite out of breath By the untiring dogs, and dreading death, Saw a tall gallows, where dead badgers hung, And owls and foxes were together strung-- Cruel examples for the passer-by! Reynard in ambuscade prepared to lie, Like Hannibal, who, when the Romans chased, Baffled their armies, and their spies disgraced. Old Fox this was! his enemies soon ran To where he lay for dead. The barking clan Filled all the air with clamour long and loud. The master whipped away the noisy crowd: The trick deceived him. "Come, you dogs!" he cried, "Some puppy's saved the rascal, who ne'er tried To climb the gibbet where such honest folk Repose. Some day, he'll find the gallows a rough joke, Much to his loss." And, while the dogs give tongue, Back to his larder goes the Fox just hung. Another day he'll try the self-same plan, And leave his brush and four paws with the man. Tricks won't do twice. The hunter ne'er had thought Of such a scheme, had he been nearly caught, Not from the want of wit, at all, you see, For who can say the English want esprit? But their contempt for life has often led To evil in such dangers, it is said.

And now I once more turn to you,-- Not for more flattery. 'Tis true All long eulogium does but tire: I, a poor player on the lyre, With flattering songs, and little verse, Amuse the mighty universe, Or win a distant nation's praise. Your Prince once said, in former days, He valued very far above All studied praise one word of love. Accept the humble gift I bring, Last efforts that I mean to sing: But poor indeed, and all unformed, Yet were they by new fervour warmed, Could you but make this homage known To her who fills your country's zone With sprites from Cytherea's isle; I speak (you know it by your smile) Of Mazarin, Jove dear to thee, And Cupid's sovereign deity.

FABLE CCXXXII.

THE APE.

There was a certain Ape in Paris: Like many another Ape, he marries. He chose a wife; and then, like some Bad husbands, beat her deaf and dumb-- Aping their ways. The poor soul sighed, And, after that, at last she died. Their infant cries, but cries in vain, And sorrows, o'er and o'er again. The father laughs: his wife is dead, And he has other loves instead, Whom he will also beat, I trow; He's often drunk, that well I know. From one who's aping others look For nothing good; whether a book He makes, or work performs. Yes, all, Upon whichever one you fall, Are bad--the author ape the worst, And of all monkey creatures first.

FABLE CCXXXIII.

THE FOX, THE WOLF, AND THE HORSE.

A Fox, still young, though rather sly, Saw, first time in his life, a Horse. Just then a stupid Wolf passed by, And Reynard saw a game, of course.

"Come, see this thing that's feeding near; He's grand. I view him with delight! Is he more strong than us, my dear? Think you with both of us he'd fight?"

Replied the Wolf, with laughter--"Now Draw me his portrait: then I'll tell." The Fox said, "Could I write, or show On canvas all his beauties well,

"Your pleasure would be great indeed. But, come--what say you? He may be Some easy prey, on whom we'll feed, By Fortune sent to you and me."

The Horse, still feeding on the plain, Scarce curious to see the pair, Planned flying with his might and main, For wolves have tricks that are unfair.

The sly Fox said, "Your servants, sir; We wish to know your name." The Horse Had brains; so said, "My shoemaker Has put it round my shoe, of course.

"Read, if you can. There is my name." The Fox had store of craft in need: He cried, "My parents were to blame; They taught me not to write or read.

'Tis only mighty wolves who learn To read: they read things in a breath!" Our flattered Wolf here made a turn; But vanity cost him his teeth!

The clever Horse, as he drew near, Held high his hoof: his plan he saw. It cost the reading Wolf most dear,-- Down came the hoof upon his jaw.

With broken bones, and bloody coat, Upon the ground the poor Wolf lay. "Brother," the Fox said, "only note The truth that we've heard people say.

"With wisdom, what had been your case? No pain would need to be discussed. This Horse has stamped upon your face That 'unknown things wise men mistrust.'"

FABLE CCXXXIV.

THE LEAGUE OF THE RATS.

A Mouse, in very deadly fear Of an old Cat, that kept too near A certain passage, being wise And shrewd, went straight, without disguise, To ask a neighbour Rat, whose house Was close to that of Mister Mouse. The Rat's domains, so fair and snug, Were under a large mansion dug. This Rat a hundred times had sworn He feared no Cat that yet was born; Both tooth and paw he held in scorn.

"Dame Mouse," the lying boaster cried, " Ma foi! how can I, ma'am, decide Alone? I cannot chase the Cat, But call and gather every Rat That's living near. I have a trick;-- In fact, at nothing I will stick." The Mouse, she curtsied humbly; then The Rat ran off to call his men, Unto the office, pantry named, Where many rats (not to be blamed) Were feasting at their host's expense, With very great magnificence. He enters, troubled--out of breath. "What have you done?--you're pale as death," Says one. "Pray, speak." Says he, "Alas! Friend Mouse is in a pretty pass, And needs immediate help from you. Raminagrobis, in my view, Spreads dreadful carnage everywhere. This Cat, this hideous monstrous Cat, If Mice are wanting, calls for Rat." They all cry out, "'Tis true! to arms!" And some, they say, 'mid war's alarms, Shed tears; but no one stops behind: They all are of the self-same mind. They pack up cheese in scrip and bag; No single nibbler dares to lag. With mind content, and spirit gay, It is to them a holiday. The Cat, meanwhile, quite free from dread, Has gripped the Mouse by its wee head. At charging pace the Rats, at last, Come; but the Cat still holds it fast, And, growling, faces the whole band. At this grim sound the Rats, off hand, With prudence, make a swift retreat, Fearing their destiny to meet. Each hurries to his humble hole, Nor seeks again the warrior's goal.

FABLE CCXXXV.

A SCYTHIAN PHILOSOPHER.