A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine Part 17

Each censured by the rest, himself content, Back to their homes all living things were sent.

_Such folly liveth yet with human fools._ _For others lynxes, for ourselves but moles._ _Great blemishes in other men we spy,_ _Which in ourselves we pa.s.s most kindly by._ _As in this world we're but way-farers,_ _Kind Heaven has made us wallet-bearers._ _The pouch behind our own defects must store,_ _The faults of others lodge in that before._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WALLET.]

The Woodman and Mercury.

A man that labour'd in the wood Had lost his honest livelihood; That is to say, His axe was gone astray.

He had no tools to spare; This wholly earn'd his fare.

Without a hope beside, He sat him down and cried, "Alas, my axe! where can it be?

O Jove! but send it back to me, And it shall strike good blows for thee."

His prayer in high Olympus heard, Swift Mercury started at the word.

"Your axe must not be lost," said he: "Now, will you know it when you see?

An axe I found upon the road."

With that an axe of gold he show'd.

"Is't this?" The woodman answer'd, "Nay."

An axe of silver, bright and gay, Refused the honest woodman too.

At last the finder brought to view An axe of iron, steel, and wood.

"That's mine," he said, in joyful mood; "With that I'll quite contented be."

The G.o.d replied, "I give the three, As due reward of honesty."

This luck when neighbouring choppers knew, They lost their axes, not a few, And sent their prayers to Jupiter So fast, he knew not which to hear.

His winged son, however, sent With gold and silver axes, went.

Each would have thought himself a fool Not to have own'd the richest tool.

But Mercury promptly gave, instead Of it, a blow upon the head.

_With simple truth to be contented,_ _Is surest not to be repented;_ _But still there are who would_ _With evil trap the good,--_ _Whose cunning is but stupid,_ _For Jove is never duped._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WOODMAN AND MERCURY.]

The Lion and the Monkey.

The lion, for his kingdom's sake, In morals would some lessons take, And therefore call'd, one summer's day, The monkey, master of the arts, An animal of brilliant parts, To hear what he could say.

"Great king," the monkey thus began, "To reign upon the wisest plan Requires a prince to set his zeal, And pa.s.sion for the public weal, Distinctly and quite high above A certain feeling call'd self-love, The parent of all vices, In creatures of all sizes.

To will this feeling from one's breast away, Is not the easy labour of a day; By that your majesty august, Will execute your royal trust, From folly free and aught unjust."

"Give me," replied the king, "Example of each thing."

"Each species," said the sage,-- "And I begin with ours,-- Exalts its own peculiar powers Above sound reason's gauge.

Meanwhile, all other kinds and tribes As fools and blockheads it describes, With other compliments as cheap.

But, on the other hand, the same Self-love inspires a beast to heap The highest pyramid of fame For every one that bears his name; Because he justly deems such praise The easiest way himself to raise.

'Tis my conclusion in the case, That many a talent here below Is but cabal, or sheer grimace,-- The art of seeming things to know-- An art in which perfection lies More with the ignorant than wise."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LION AND THE MONKEY]

The Shepherd and the Lion.

The Fable aesop tells is nearly this:-- A shepherd from his flock began to miss, And long'd to catch the stealer of, his sheep.

Before a cavern, dark and deep, Where wolves retired by day to sleep, Which he suspected as the thieves, He set his trap among the leaves; And, ere he left the place, He thus invoked celestial grace:-- "O king of all the powers divine, Against the rogue but grant me this delight, That this my trap may catch him in my sight, And I, from twenty calves of mine, Will make the fattest thine."

But while the words were on his tongue, Forth came a lion great and strong.

Down crouch'd the man of sheep, and said, With s.h.i.+vering fright half dead, "Alas! that man should never be aware Of what may be the meaning of his prayer!

To catch the robber of my flocks, O king of G.o.ds, I pledged a calf to thee: If from his clutches thou wilt rescue me, I'll raise my offering to an ox."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SHEPHERD AND THE LION.]

The Horse and the Wolf.

A wolf who, fall'n on needy days, In sharp look-out for means and ways, Espied a horse turn'd out to graze.

His joy the reader may opine.

"Once got," said he, "this game were fine; But if a sheep, 'twere sooner mine.

I can't proceed my usual way; Some trick must now be put in play."

This said, He came with measured tread, And told the horse, with learned verbs, He knew the power of roots and herbs,-- Whatever grew about those borders,-- He soon could cure of all disorders.

If he, Sir Horse, would not conceal The symptoms of his case, He, Doctor Wolf, would gratis heal; For that to feed in such a place, And run about untied, Was proof itself of some disease, As all the books decide.

"I have, good Doctor, if you please,"

Replied the horse, "as I presume, Beneath my foot, an aposthume."

"My son," replied the learned leech, "That part, as all our authors teach, Is strikingly susceptible Of ills which make acceptable What you may also have from me-- The aid of skilful surgery."

The fellow, with this talk sublime, Watch'd for a snap the fitting time.

Meanwhile, suspicious of some trick, The weary patient nearer draws, And gives his doctor such a kick, As makes a chowder of his jaws.

Exclaim'd the Wolf, in sorry plight, "I own those heels have served me right.

I err'd to quit my trade, as I will not in future; Me Nature surely made for nothing but a butcher."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HORSE AND THE WOLF.]

The Eagle and the Owl.

The eagle and the owl, resolved to cease Their war, embraced in pledge of peace.

On faith of king, on faith of owl, they swore That they would eat each other's chicks no more.

"But know you mine?" said Wisdom's bird.

"Not I, indeed," the eagle cried.

"The worse for that," the owl replied: "I fear your oath's a useless word; I fear that you, as king, will not Consider duly who or what: Adieu, my young, if you should meet them!"

"Describe them, then, and I'll not eat them,"

The eagle said. The owl replied: "My little ones, I say with pride, For grace of form cannot be match'd,-- The prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd; By this you cannot fail to know them; 'Tis needless, therefore, that I show them."