A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine Part 9

Forth from a dragon-guarded, moated place, The crown was brought, and, taken from its case, And being tried by turns on all, The heads of most were found too small; Some horned were, and some too big; Not one would fit the regal gear.

For ever ripe for such a rig, The monkey, looking very queer, Approach'd with antics and grimaces, And, after scores of monkey faces, With what would seem a gracious stoop, Pa.s.s'd through the crown as through a hoop.

The beasts, diverted with the thing, Did homage to him as their king.

The fox alone the vote regretted, But yet in public never fretted.

When he his compliments had paid To royalty, thus newly made, "Great sire, I know a place," said he, "Where lies conceal'd a treasure, Which, by the right of royalty, Should bide your royal pleasure."

The king lack'd not an appet.i.te For such financial pelf, And, not to lose his royal right, Ran straight to see it for himself.

It was a trap, and he was caught.

Said Renard, "Would you have it thought, You ape, that you can fill a throne, And guard the rights of all, alone, Not knowing how to guard your own?"

_The beasts all gather'd from the farce,_ _That stuff for kings is very scarce._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FOX, THE MONKEY, AND THE ANIMALS.]

The Sun and the Frogs.

Rejoicing on their tyrant's wedding-day, The people drown'd their care in drink; While from the general joy did aesop shrink, And show'd its folly in this way.

"The sun," said he, "once took it in his head To have a partner: so he wed.

From swamps, and ponds, and marshy bogs, Up rose the wailings of the frogs.

"What shall we do, should he have progeny?"

Said they to Destiny; 'One sun we scarcely can endure, And half-a-dozen, we are sure, Will dry the very sea.

Adieu to marsh and fen!

Our race will perish then, Or be obliged to fix Their dwelling in the Styx!'

For such an humble animal, The frog, I take it, reason'd well."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SUN AND THE FROGS.]

The Countryman and the Serpent.

A countryman, as aesop certifies, A charitable man, but not so wise, One day in winter found, Stretch'd on the snowy ground, A chill'd or frozen snake, As torpid as a stake, And, if alive, devoid of sense.

He took him up, and bore him home, And, thinking not what recompense For such a charity would come, Before the fire stretch'd him, And back to being fetch'd him.

The snake scarce felt the genial heat Before his heart with native malice beat.

He raised his head, thrust out his forked tongue, Coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung.

"Ungrateful wretch!" said he, "is this the way My care and kindness you repay?

Now you shall die." With that his axe he takes, And with two blows three serpents makes.

Trunk, head, and tail were separate snakes; And, leaping up with all their might, They vainly sought to reunite.

_'Tis good and lovely to be kind;_ _But charity should not be blind;_ _For as to wretchedness ingrate,_ _You cannot raise it from its wretched state._

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE SERPENT.]

The Carter in the Mire.

The Phaeton who drove a load of hay Once found his cart bemired.

Poor man! the spot was far away From human help--retired, In some rude country place, In Brittany, as near as I can trace, Near Quimper Corentan,-- A town that poet never sang,-- Which Fate, they say, puts in the traveller's path, When she would rouse the man to special wrath.

May Heaven preserve us from that route!

But to our carter, hale and stout:-- Fast stuck his cart; he swore his worst, And, fill'd with rage extreme, The mud-holes now he cursed, And now he cursed his team, And now his cart and load,-- Anon, the like upon himself bestow'd.

Upon the G.o.d he call'd at length, Most famous through the world for strength.

"O, help me, Hercules!" cried he; "for if thy back of yore This burly planet bore, thy arm can set me free."

This prayer gone up, from out a cloud there broke A voice which thus in G.o.dlike accents spoke:-- "The suppliant must himself bestir, Ere Hercules will aid confer.

Look wisely in the proper quarter, To see what hindrance can be found; Remove the execrable mud and mortar, Which, axle-deep, beset thy wheels around.

Thy sledge and crowbar take, And pry me up that stone, or break; Now fill that rut upon the other side.

Hast done it?" "Yes," the man replied.

"Well," said the voice, "I'll aid thee now; Take up thy whip." "I have ... but, how?

My cart glides on with ease!

I thank thee, Hercules."

"Thy team," rejoin'd the voice, "has light ado; So help thyself, and Heaven will help thee too."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CARTER IN THE MIRE.]

The Heron.

One day,--no matter when or where,-- A long-legg'd heron chanced to fare By a certain river's brink, With his long, sharp beak Helved on his slender neck; 'Twas a fish-spear, you might think.

The water was clear and still, The carp and the pike there at will Pursued their silent fun, Turning up, ever and anon, A golden side to the sun.

With ease might the heron have made Great profits in his fis.h.i.+ng trade.

So near came the scaly fry, They might be caught by the pa.s.ser-by.

But he thought he better might Wait for a better appet.i.te-- For he lived by rule, and could not eat, Except at his hours, the best of meat.

Anon his appet.i.te return'd once more; So, approaching again the sh.o.r.e, He saw some tench taking their leaps, Now and then, from their lowest deeps.

With as dainty a taste as Horace's rat, He turn'd away from such food as that.

"What, tench for a heron! poh!

I scorn the thought, and let them go."

The tench refused, there came a gudgeon; "For all that," said the bird, "I budge on.

I'll ne'er open my beak, if the G.o.ds please, For such mean little fishes as these."

He did it for less; For it came to pa.s.s, That not another fish could he see; And, at last, so hungry was he, That he thought it of some avail To find on the bank a single snail.

_Such is the sure result_ _Of being too difficult._

_Would you be strong and great_ _Learn to accommodate._

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

The Head and the Tail of the Serpent.