Fables of La Fontaine Part 15

A picture once was shown, In which one man, alone, Upon the ground had thrown A lion fully grown.

Much gloried at the sight the rabble.

A lion thus rebuked their babble:-- 'That you have got the victory there, There is no contradiction.

But, gentles, possibly you are The dupes of easy fiction: Had we the art of making pictures, Perhaps our champion had beat yours!'

[17] Aesop.

XI.--THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.[18]

A fox, almost with hunger dying, Some grapes upon a trellis spying, To all appearance ripe, clad in Their tempting russet skin, Most gladly would have eat them; But since he could not get them, So far above his reach the vine-- 'They're sour,' he said; 'such grapes as these, The dogs may eat them if they please!'

Did he not better than to whine?

[18] Aesop: Phaedrus, IV. 3.

XII.--THE SWAN AND THE COOK.[19]

The pleasures of a poultry yard Were by a swan and gosling shared.

The swan was kept there for his looks, The thrifty gosling for the cooks; The first the garden's pride, the latter A greater favourite on the platter.

They swam the ditches, side by side, And oft in sports aquatic vied, Plunging, splas.h.i.+ng far and wide, With rivalry ne'er satisfied.

One day the cook, named Thirsty John, Sent for the gosling, took the swan, In haste his throat to cut, And put him in the pot.

The bird's complaint resounded In glorious melody; Whereat the cook, astounded His sad mistake to see, Cried, 'What! make soup of a musician!

Please G.o.d, I'll never set such dish on.

No, no; I'll never cut a throat That sings so sweet a note.'

'Tis thus, whatever peril may alarm us, Sweet words will never harm us.

[19] Aesop.

XIII.--THE WOLVES AND THE SHEEP.[20]

By-gone a thousand years of war, The wearers of the fleece And wolves at last made peace; Which both appear'd the better for; For if the wolves had now and then Eat up a straggling ewe or wether, As often had the shepherd men Turn'd wolf-skins into leather.

Fear always spoil'd the verdant herbage, And so it did the b.l.o.o.d.y carnage.

Hence peace was sweet; and, lest it should be riven, On both sides hostages were given.

The sheep, as by the terms arranged, For pups of wolves their dogs exchanged; Which being done above suspicion, Confirm'd and seal'd by high commission, What time the pups were fully grown, And felt an appet.i.te for prey, And saw the sheepfold left alone, The shepherds all away, They seized the fattest lambs they could, And, choking, dragg'd them to the wood; Of which, by secret means apprised, Their sires, as is surmised, Fell on the hostage guardians of the sheep, And slew them all asleep.

So quick the deed of perfidy was done, There fled to tell the tale not one!

From which we may conclude That peace with villains will be rued.

Peace in itself, 'tis true, May be a good for you; But 'tis an evil, nathless, When enemies are faithless.

[20] Aesop.

XIV.--THE LION GROWN OLD.[21]

A lion, mourning, in his age, the wane Of might once dreaded through his wild domain, Was mock'd, at last, upon his throne, By subjects of his own, Strong through his weakness grown.

The horse his head saluted with a kick; The wolf snapp'd at his royal hide; The ox, too, gored him in the side; The unhappy lion, sad and sick, Could hardly growl, he was so weak.

In uncomplaining, stoic pride, He waited for the hour of fate, Until the a.s.s approach'd his gate; Whereat, 'This is too much,' he saith; 'I willingly would yield my breath; But, ah! thy kick is double death!'

[21] Phaedrus, I. 21.

XV.--PHILOMEL AND PROGNE.[22]

From home and city spires, one day, The swallow Progne flew away, And sought the bosky dell Where sang poor Philomel.[23]

'My sister,' Progne said, 'how do you do?

'Tis now a thousand years since you Have been conceal'd from human view; I'm sure I have not seen your face Once since the times of Thrace.

Pray, will you never quit this dull retreat?'

'Where could I find,' said Philomel, 'so sweet?'

'What! sweet?' cried Progne--'sweet to waste Such tones on beasts devoid of taste, Or on some rustic, at the most!

Should you by deserts be engross'd?

Come, be the city's pride and boast.

Besides, the woods remind of harms That Tereus in them did your charms.'

'Alas!' replied the bird of song, 'The thought of that so cruel wrong Makes me, from age to age, Prefer this hermitage; For nothing like the sight of men Can call up what I suffer'd then.'

[22] Aesop.

[23] _Progne and Philomel_.--Progne and Philomela, sisters, in mythology. Progne was Queen of Thrace, and was changed into a swallow. Her sister was changed into a nightingale; _vide_ Ovid, _Metamorphoses_.

XVI.--THE WOMAN DROWNED.[24]

I hate that saying, old and savage, "'Tis nothing but a woman drowning."

That's much, I say. What grief more keen should have edge Than loss of her, of all our joys the crowning?

Thus much suggests the fable I am borrowing.

A woman perish'd in the water, Where, anxiously, and sorrowing, Her husband sought her, To ease the grief he could not cure, By honour'd rites of sepulture.

It chanced that near the fatal spot, Along the stream which had Produced a death so sad, There walk'd some men that knew it not.

The husband ask'd if they had seen His wife, or aught that hers had been.

One promptly answer'd, 'No!

But search the stream below: It must nave borne her in its flow.'

'No,' said another; 'search above.

In that direction She would have floated, by the love Of contradiction.'

This joke was truly out of season;-- I don't propose to weigh its reason.

But whether such propensity The s.e.x's fault may be, Or not, one thing is very sure, Its own propensities endure.

Up to the end they'll have their will, And, if it could be, further still.