Fables of La Fontaine Part 21

'Your gold! pray where?'--'Beneath this stone.'

'Why, man, is this a time of war, That you should bring your gold so far?

You'd better keep it in your drawer; And I'll be bound, if once but in it, You could have got it any minute.'

'At any minute! Ah, Heaven knows That cash comes harder than it goes!

I touch'd it not.'--'Then have the grace To explain to me that rueful face,'

Replied the man; 'for, if 'tis true You touch'd it not, how plain the case, That, put the stone back in its place, And all will be as well for you!'

[26] Aesop, and others.

XXI.--THE EYE OF THE MASTER.[27]

A stag took refuge from the chase Among the oxen of a stable, Who counsel'd him, as saith the fable, To seek at once some safer place.

'My brothers,' said the fugitive, 'Betray me not, and, as I live, The richest pasture I will show, That e'er was grazed on, high or low; Your kindness you will not regret, For well some day I'll pay the debt.'

The oxen promised secrecy.

Down crouch'd the stag, and breathed more free.

At eventide they brought fresh hay, As was their custom day by day; And often came the servants near, As did indeed the overseer, But with so little thought or care, That neither horns, nor hide, nor hair Reveal'd to them the stag was there.

Already thank'd the wild-wood stranger The oxen for their treatment kind, And there to wait made up his mind, Till he might issue free from danger.

Replied an ox that chew'd the cud, 'Your case looks fairly in the bud; But then I fear the reason why Is, that the man of sharpest eye Hath not yet come his look to take.

I dread his coming, for your sake; Your boasting may be premature: Till then, poor stag, you're not secure.'

'Twas but a little while before The careful master oped the door.

'How's this, my boys?' said he; 'These empty racks will never do.

Go, change this dirty litter too.

More care than this I want to see Of oxen that belong to me.

Well, Jim, my boy, you're young and stout; What would it cost to clear these cobwebs out?

And put these yokes, and hames, and traces, All as they should be, in their places?'

Thus looking round, he came to see One head he did not usually.

The stag is found; his foes Deal heavily their blows.

Down sinks he in the strife; No tears can save his life.

They slay, and dress, and salt the beast, And cook his flesh in many a feast, And many a neighbour gets a taste.

As Phaedrus says it, pithily, The master's is the eye to see:-- I add the lover's, as for me.

[27] Phaedrus, II. 8 (The Stag and the Oxen); and others.

XXII.--THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES WITH THE OWNER OF A FIELD.[28]

"Depend upon yourself alone,"

Has to a common proverb grown.

'Tis thus confirm'd in Aesop's way:-- The larks to build their nests are seen Among the wheat-crops young and green; That is to say, What time all things, dame Nature heeding, Betake themselves to love and breeding-- The monstrous whales and sharks, Beneath the briny flood, The tigers in the wood, And in the fields, the larks.

One she, however, of these last, Found more than half the spring-time past Without the taste of spring-time pleasures; When firmly she set up her will That she would be a mother still, And resolutely took her measures;-- First, got herself by Hymen match'd; Then built her nest, laid, sat, and hatch'd.

All went as well as such things could.

The wheat-crop ripening ere the brood Were strong enough to take their flight, Aware how perilous their plight, The lark went out to search for food, And told her young to listen well, And keep a constant sentinel.

'The owner of this field,' said she, 'Will come, I know, his grain to see.

Hear all he says; we little birds Must shape our conduct by his words.'

No sooner was the lark away, Than came the owner with his son.

'This wheat is ripe,' said he: 'now run And give our friends a call To bring their sickles all, And help us, great and small, To-morrow, at the break of day.'

The lark, returning, found no harm, Except her nest in wild alarm.

Says one, 'We heard the owner say, Go, give our friends a call To help, to-morrow, break of day.'

Replied the lark, 'If that is all, We need not be in any fear, But only keep an open ear.

As gay as larks, now eat your victuals.--'

They ate and slept--the great and littles.

The dawn arrives, but not the friends; The lark soars up, the owner wends His usual round to view his land.

'This grain,' says he, 'ought not to stand.

Our friends do wrong; and so does he Who trusts that friends will friendly be.

My son, go call our kith and kin To help us get our harvest in.'

This second order made The little larks still more afraid.

'He sent for kindred, mother, by his son; The work will now, indeed, be done.'

'No, darlings; go to sleep; Our lowly nest we'll keep.'

With reason said; for kindred there came none.

Thus, tired of expectation vain, Once more the owner view'd his grain.

'My son,' said he, 'we're surely fools To wait for other people's tools; As if one might, for love or pelf, Have friends more faithful than himself!

Engrave this lesson deep, my son.

And know you now what must be done?

We must ourselves our sickles bring, And, while the larks their matins sing, Begin the work; and, on this plan, Get in our harvest as we can.'

This plan the lark no sooner knew, Than, 'Now's the time,' she said, 'my chicks;'

And, taking little time to fix, Away they flew; All fluttering, soaring, often grounding, Decamp'd without a trumpet sounding.

[28] Aesop (Aulus Gellus); Avia.n.u.s.

BOOK V.

I.--THE WOODMAN AND MERCURY.[1]

To M. The Chevalier De Bouillon.[2]

Your taste has served my work to guide; To gain its suffrage I have tried.

You'd have me shun a care too nice, Or beauty at too dear a price, Or too much effort, as a vice.

My taste with yours agrees: Such effort cannot please; And too much pains about the polish Is apt the substance to abolish; Not that it would be right or wise The graces all to ostracize.

You love them much when delicate; Nor is it left for me to hate.

As to the scope of Aesop's plan,[3]

I fail as little as I can.

If this my rhymed and measured speech Availeth not to please or teach, I own it not a fault of mine; Some unknown reason I a.s.sign.

With little strength endued For battles rough and rude, Or with Herculean arm to smite, I show to vice its foolish plight.

In this my talent wholly lies; Not that it does at all suffice.

My fable sometimes brings to view The face of vanity purblind With that of restless envy join'd; And life now turns upon these pivots two.

Such is the silly little frog That aped the ox upon her bog.

A double image sometimes shows How vice and folly do oppose The ways of virtue and good sense; As lambs with wolves so grim and gaunt, The silly fly and frugal ant.

Thus swells my work--a comedy immense-- Its acts unnumber'd and diverse, Its scene the boundless universe.

G.o.ds, men, and brutes, all play their part In fields of nature or of art, And Jupiter among the rest.

Here comes the G.o.d who's wont to bear Jove's frequent errands to the fair, With winged heels and haste; But other work's in hand to-day.